The Awakening
by Azunite
Summary: Sometimes, death averts the greatest danger...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Drago leant on the wall outside Gomez's hall, listening intently. Furious voices reverberated from within.

"I will send a raid! I won't risk losing our trade with the outer world, no matter what those flimsy bookworms think!"

Loud, stomping footsteps.

"And speaking of that… Kill them."

Drago froze.

Another voice sounded, uncertain and doubtful – Raven's. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"I don't want people in the camp to believe I tolerate rebels – or even worse, conspirators."

Moments passed. The talking continued, but Drago's heart beat with such fervour that it drowned out every noise.

"Take five men. They shouldn't be too hard to handle."

A guard replied. "Will do, boss."

Enveloped in a cage of sweat and heat, Drago unstuck himself from the wall and broke into a dash. Everything flashed as he went. He dropped the letter he was clutching – the useless piece of parchment announcing Gomez of the mages' planned relocation to the New Camp.

Drago scrambled up the stairs to the pentagram. Corristo stared at him, wide eyed.

"Did you pass on the—"

"No—we must go, now…"

Drago took in ravenous gulps of air, soothing the inferno in his chest. His voice had drawn the other mages from beneath.

"Master, we must leave this instant… they'll kill us—"

"Kill—?"

"Master, there is no time! Gomez has ordered five men to come and slay us, we must flee!"

Footfalls on wood.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid."

Bartholo had stepped into the temple, flanked by four guards.

"What's the meaning of this?" Corristo said. He came closer and clutched the wooden railings.

"Drago's right," Bartholo said, "we're here to do you in. There's a lesson that must be taught in this."

A symphony of drawing blades.

"Get them."

The group split – two of the guards took the left-hand stairs, the other two, the right. Orange light burst onto the walls, emanating from the swirling orbs of fire held by the mages.

"What's this?" Bartholo inquired, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. "Fighting back?" The guards tittered.

Drago was the first. Nothing mattered, except emerging alive from Gomez's vile trick. The room flashed as he chucked a fireball at the nearest guard. The guard caught fire, started writhing, shrieking. His fellow guard sidestepped, avoiding the tumbling figure. The remaining three lunged forth, sword arms outstretched.

Magic roared. Light danced across the ceiling. More flames sailed forth, wrapping around the would-be assassins.

Bartholo gasped. "Alarm, alarm – the mages are reb—"

The Ore Baron sputtered - his head was encased in fire. Bellowing in exquisite torment, he streaked madly through the chamber, until, like the four smouldering guards, he buckled to the floor and gave his final breath. Corristo's face was a mix of shock and bewilderment.

"Quickly, quickly!" Drago said.

The five magicians hurried down the stairs, stepping over the bodies. Outside the sun shone fiercely, reflected on the freed blades of the coming guards.

Damarok screamed and flung a fistful of fire at a black-haired guard. It hit him in the chest, knocking him back a few steps.

A throng of attackers was slowly forming. They dodged the spells, leaping out of their way. Torrez cried out his pain: a bolt had reached him below the knee.

"Run back into the temple!" Corristo hollered. His disciples obeyed, scurrying back inside. Corristo stepped onto the entrance platform, spreading out his arms.

The guards stopped. One of them shouted, "Hoping to grow wings, old man?"

His colleagues sniggered, but their mirth was short-lived. The sky growled; clouds rumbled and gushed. Long spears of fire swooped in salvoes, hitting the guards square. They twisted in flaring agony, clawing at the flames, stumbling around like headless chicken.

Corristo emerged in the temple, panting. "I'm afraid I cannot help you any more." He fell against the wall and slid to the floor.

"What shall we do?" asked Rodriguez, his robe soaked with sweat.

"We must run while there's still time, while the rest of the guards are still unaware." But Drago was lying to himself. Master Corristo was in no state to move. An idea flashed inside Drago's mind – the part not numb with fear and dread.

"Torrez – give him a transformation spell, he'll be able to escape easily that way." Damarok peered outside. "Quick, they're coming!"

Torrez limped to his chest and drew from it a yellow scroll of parchment. "Master – read this. We'll meet at the hunter's cabin, it's beyond a valley to the left of the north gate!"

Corristo gulped and nodded. The four mages glanced at each other. A flash of bright blue light, and instead of Corristo, a dark yellow bloodfly, the size of Drago's forearm, hovered in the air.

"Now!"

They spilled out of the temple. Running as faster than they had ever run, they prayed to Innos that they'd make it out alive. Swords slipped from their scabbards, the air resonating with their sounds, the shouts of guards, the swish of bolts in midair.

The world was a bobbing blur to Drago, his feet trampling the earth with frenzy. A bolt came so close to his chest that the area froze.

He was out of the camp. His eyes swiveled left in search of the valley. More running. The sight of a makeshift hut emerged. Dago collapsed, his knees red-hot with pain, his chest a pulsing blob of flesh. He reveled in the ticklish feel of grass on his face, and noticed meatbug crawling on his left boot.

For a few moments, everything was quiet. Gasping and treading substituted it afterwards.

"I—ah…"

Damarok coughed and buckled. Torrez and Rodriguez were close by, and they too were airless, exhausted. Innos might have descended upon at that time, giving them blissful minutes of respite. After they had taken their fill of breathing, the four of them stood up.

Fitful buzzing reached their ears. Over a broken wooden fence fluttered a bloodfly. Its right wing was torn to shreds. It flapped once, twice, and thudded on the grass. With a surge of magical force, the insect became Corristo.

"That was close… too close," said Torrez, wincing. A darker red clashed against his robe's leg.

A door slammed. The mages whirled in its direction, and they beheld Cavalorn the hunter.

"What the—hey!"

All five had readied their spells.

"What's the deal, put away that magic!"

Rodriguez said, "There's no need, he couldn't have known." The chase had muddied the mages' minds.

"Gomez wanted to kill us."

Cavalorn gaped. "Kill-?"

Damarok looked over the fence. "No time, they're coming, we must hide!"

Confused, Cavalorn gulped and said, "Go in the cave, I'll figure out what to tell them."

So they did. Torrez inched closed the door as a guard's rasping shout rang out. The chamber was fully dim, so Corristo called a ball of white light.

It seemed a storage room. There was a broken weapon stand, a chest, a quiver full of arrows…They kept silence between themselves. Whimpering quietly, Torrez yanked out the bolt from his leg and worked a healing spell. After a span of what seemed like hours, Cavalorn came inside.

"I mustered up a lie – don't know if they believed it, though, and the last thing I need now is guards on my back – but they went back to the castle." He wiped his forehead, which was shimmering with sweat.

"May Innos bless you for your act of courage!" Corristo spoke with conviction.

"We are tired… would it bother you if we stayed here a little longer? We'll be gone by nightfall," said Torrez.

Cavalorn mumbled something and retreated.

They sat down on the dusty floor.

"Not in the darkest hour would I have imagined Gomez taking such a vicious step." Corristo sighed.

Damarok laid a hand upon the old mage's shoulder.

"It does not matter, master – rest. We must reach the New Camp and warn them about the raid."

It did not cross any of their minds that Gomez would resort to murder. A sliver of knowledge did exist in the back of their brains that Gomez was, after all, a power-hungry cut-throat, but they had counted themselves exempt from Gomez's rages. Hours passed in silence. The shock of the day's happenings began to dwindle down. It was clear to all that Innos himself had delivered them from peril on that dark day, with minimal wounds. Evening unfolded upon the world, painting it a soft purple.

"Master?"

Corristo's chin rested on his chest. Damarok tapped him on the shoulder and he roused.

"It is time to go."

With many bones creaking, the High Mage stood, and the rest followed. The way to the New Camp was long, and they oft had to stop to catch their breaths, especially Corristo. He was a silent man, but his silence that day was not his usual. His eyes were almost closed, and he walked unsteadily. The rest of them were also tired, and the shock, though diminished, still scorched inside.

A few stars had begun blotting the sky when they reached the gate. The guarding rogues refused their entry at first, but after a while they relinquished. Soon, sprawling before them was a gigantic cave, a hole in the rock in which men had built dwellings. They even noticed the building on the lake, from which light and loud noises emitted.

A disdainful thought came to Drago's mind: That must be a tavern.

Men were scuttling about, lighting torches. By the blaze of their gleam they spotted a man in blue robes, staring down upon a round grillwork.

Not little was Cronos's surprise when he saw his old friends. Damarok told him of Gomez's plans.

"That vile assassin!" he spouted, leading them toward the upper portion of the cave. "Thank Adanos you made it alive. It is good that you have chosen to come here. Saturas has already sent a young man to try and persuade you to come."

Drago hmph-ed. That was a highly dubious coincidence.

The water mages' residence was in the upper portion of the cave, where they had built huts.

Saturas stood inside the opening of the tunnel to the ore mound. As befitting any magician, a pentagram was laid on the floor.

"Ah. So my young protégé has reached you?" he asked, smiling.

Corristo shook his head. "We came here under other circumstances."

"Oh?"

"Gomez planned to kill us."

Saturas's appalled expression said more than words could.

"We opposed his plan – Saturas, you must warn your mercenaries, the guards are planning an assault on the Free Mine! The Old Mine's collapsed!"

Shock after shock pelted the High Water Mage. He immediately summoned Lee to the chamber and told him of the incoming attack.

"That's a very daring decision to take. But I can't imagine them strolling through the front gate. Which means they've found another way. I'll send a dozen men to reinforce the guard at the Hollow."

And he left. Drago couldn't tell whether Lee disliked fire mages or was simply astounded by the news, but one thing was certain: he didn't look particularly glad to find them all huddled inside the room.

In all the commotion the fire mages failed to notice five objects standing upright in the corner: great, blue-shimmering crystals that thrummed with magic energy.

"Are those…?"

Saturas frowned in confusion. "Those? Ah."

The water mage strolled over and clasped one. Lifting it, the magic within swirled even more strongly.

"Yes. The five focus stones."

Saturas chuckled at the look of surprise on his colleagues' faces.

"The same young man I sent to fetch you brought one of these, some time ago. And if he found one, he was certainly capable of finding the rest."

Drago flinched slightly at the "fetch you" part, but was all the same enthralled by the magic objects.

"He didn't fetch them without a purpose. But as to that, we shall speak tomorrow. You must rest now."

Nefarius led them down to a couple of free huts that had recently been vacated. He apologized for the bad conditions, but that was that was available, he said. He also gave them food: two loaves of dried bread, some cheese and several apples.

Life wouldn't be as easy here as in the Old Camp, Drago thought to himself, before he fell asleep.

Morning greeted them with a cold gust of wind fluttering inside the stone shacks. They rose and went to Saturas post haste. Disdain and hatred were manifest on the faces of rogues and mercenaries. A man clad in furs and a great blue scarf nocked an arrow in his bow, but was immediately calmed down by a mercenary.

"For the honour of magic!" intoned Saturas as the fire mages stepped inside. He put the book he was reading on a table and turned to face them. They repeated the greeting.

"Once again, I apologise for the state of things, I wish I could offer you something better."

Corristo shook his head and smiled. "There is no problem."

Saturas returned the smile. "Let us discuss a matter of great importance."

He led them to a dimly-lit hut. Its walls were lined with bookshelves, which were themselves lined with numerous tomes. They sat down.

"As I said yesterday, the foci were brought to me for a purpose. You most probably know that Y'Berion has died. The young man told me that before he died, Y'Berion entrusted us with forming an escape plan, as he had had a revelation about the true nature of the god they were worshipping moments prior to his demise."

The fire mages were indifferent to this.

"The Sect Camp had in their possession a focus, and the almanac they'd purchased from you. Cor Angar ordered this young man to bring both to me. I knew that one focus could not do anything, so I sent him to find the others. He returned with the other four the following days."

Saturas fidgeted in his stool and gripped the edges of the table.

"We, the water mages, cannot use the foci alone."

"Use them?" asked Torrez. "Use them for what?"

Saturas sat silent for a moment. "To destroy the barrier."

He was greeted by many "hmpf!"s and "ha!"s. Rodriguez said, "That's a good joke."

Saturas's face darkened.

"It is not a joke."

"Why would we renounce our lives inside the Barrier? It is safer than the outer world. We are protected here."

"Protected?" Saturas laughed darkly. "Your protection has ended. Gomez has tried to have you killed. He has sent a raid to take over the Free Mine – a plan which has failed, but only just – and he will, no doubt, press on with the attacks."

Someone gulped in the dark.

"None of us are safe any longer. There is something dark brewing in the heart of men here."

Saturas looked Corristo straight in the face: it was a dire gaze, pleading, insistent.

"Heed me, all of you. The only true safety lies in freedom. We must shed this self-made jail and leave this place. Darkness is lurking about, I feel it."

Saturas rose in a swirl of robes. "I shall not press this matter further until you have made a decision. Feel free to resume your studies."

He turned and departed.

Silence grew thick.

Rodriguez summoned a ball of light. Corristo sat hunched, his eyes pointing down, his mouth pursed.

"Master?"

"He is right," the old mage croaked. "I don't believe Gomez will give up the chase until we are all dead. And we cannot hide forever in a finite cage."

Drago pondered. Naturally, he prized his life above the small comforts they had been enjoying in the Barrier, but outside of it lay only more dangers. And what was the point of continually fleeing if one could never stop and rest?

He set his whole attention in a book he'd taken from the shelf.

"True Power" – a tome he'd read many times, and one that lost its meaning every time he read it.

"It is power that distinguishes a magus from his fellow men. Equipped with the ability to influence the divine power, he is a being independent of the laws of nature which apply to mortal man."

Independent of the laws of nature. But he was not. He was a mortal as any other. One second of distraction and he would die like anyone else. He could be chased and hunted like any lowly wolf.

He was lost in a mire of decisions, stumbling and faltering. They needed him to fulfill the ritual. He could deny, and thus the ritual would never take place. But he doubted he could live with the guilt of having sent his friends to their death, if he ended up alive.

Hours trudged on.

Saturas barely heard their footsteps over the soft cracking of the torches.

"We have decided," said Corristo, startling the water mage. "And we shall help you."

The battle at the Hollow was raging when Lee got there with his men. Fierce, they cast themselves into the fray, fighting with abandon. A great number of mercenaries, rogues and scrapers had been slain, but the scale of the battle was tipped over by Lee's arrival.

The moon flung its soft, silvery light upon their belligerent frames, glinting on their slashing blades. Whistling arrows cut the air.

The Camp itself shook with combat.

A group of about 10 guards had managed to sneak into the camp, their target obvious: the fire magicians that had escaped them. Detection by the mercenaries did little to deter them: they forged on with wild resolve. Only the combined force of arrows, swords and magic decimated them.

All the while, the fire magicians slept in their huts in the lower tier of the cave. They were roused by the noise of fighting, but did not step in. Sleep did befall them that night.

The Free Mine had run its course. All the mercenaries and diggers were relieved from their positions, and they swarmed back to the Camp for the great ritual. Some of them pocketed several last nuggets of ore, considering that they might have use for them in the outer world.

The ore mound had been split into five distinct smaller mounds, and relocated to the hill atop the cave. There they were placed into five huge stone bowls. The bowls were set on the tips of the pentagram that had been drawn by the magicians.

In the middle of each bowl the mercenaries fixed an upright cylinder, on which the focus stones were laid.

Night was nearing, bringing with it a symphony of crickets. Scrapers, rogues and mercenaries alike flocked together at the base of the cave, excited at the prospect of tasting freedom once more. It was, perhaps, the first time the tavern was empty since it had been built.

Saturas stood on the hill, gazing up at the flickering barrier of energy. Something was flickering inside him as well, not unlike the snake-like strings of magic that slithered across the dome. He could not help but remember their failure in creating the barrier. Had the barrier been constructed correctly, they would never have had to undo it, and loose upon the world thieves, murderers and cutthroats.

He also remembered Xardas.

"Saturas?"

Torn from his reverie, the water mage turned. Corristo was strolling up to him.

"We need someone to be the main conductor, seeing as…" Corristo trailed off.

"I shall do it. And do not worry, we will succeed, with or without him."

A blurry moon towered in the sky, unobstructed and ghostly.

The mages took their positions. Two mages, one fire, the other water, stationed around each bowl. Saturas stood in the middle of the pentagram, and it was he who opened the ritual.

He uttered the initiatory words and held his arms parallel to the ground. As one, the ten other magicians flung their arms and heads skyward, repeating the words.

With a thunder-like rumble, thin strands of resplendent magic burst from the mages' hands and sailed in the air, coiling around the foci.

The earth groaned. The mages proceeded.

As one, they began chanting aeon-old incantations in rhythm with the stretching of arms.

The foci glowed like torches in the night, pulsing with blue energy. Ore crackled and heated, emanating waves of warmth.

An earth-splintering tremor suffused the ground.

Five colossal beams of energy shot from the bowls. Taken aback, the mages faltered.

Night turned to day as the pillars of light dashed against the barrier, spreading blinding illumination. The howling of the fiercest wind paled next to the sound of collision.

They clutched their ears and squeezed their eyes shut…

It ended.

The sound and light perished. The magicians crumpled. A final flash and the foci burst into million shards.

Above, the barrier still towered. Below, green eyes slid open.

Neath stone and dust, the Sleeper awakened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The necromancer lifted his head and rushed out of the study.

He had to shield his eyes from the intense light, letting his ears take the full brunt of the inexplicable bellowing noise.

From the outline of his robe he could see that the light had faded, and he lowered his arms.

There was something odd about the barrier. A deaf, distant thrumming sound could be heard from above.

All at once, pain came. Sudden, acute, savage.

He glimpsed a stupendous, many-legged insect slashing its arms about, wailing. A gaping hole lay behind it, swirling and black.

Arrayed in yellow robes, the bald man cowered underneath the insect.. It angled its head and cooed, before swooping and snatching the man between its jaws, its legs tearing him to chunks.

Xardas opened his eyes in ghastly apprehension. How could it be?

His demons had oft told of the ore heap in the place they called the New Camp. But the necromancer had not imagined the magicians would be possessed of such stupidity as to try to destroy the barrier…

Xardas lost no more time. He teleported in a blur of yellow light down to the pentagram chamber beneath.

He emptied his mind of all knowledge and memories, and focused on the other side, the land of Beliar.

The gloom was impregnable, heavy. Yet the place teemed with tumult, the ponderous flap of wings, sighing breaths and grunts.

"He has awakened."

Xardas forged on, fumbling.

The demons kept clamouring their joy at the awakening of their master whilst Xardas swung his arms, intending to clutch—

He took hold of a greasy, scaly wing.

Wrenched back into the real world, Xardas staggered. He'd expected the summoning to be easier, but something was amiss.

The necromancer stood facing the demon.

It was huge, misshapen. Frail wings kept its rotund bulk airborne. Its eyes were bright green, never blinking.

"What do you require?" it asked.

"Go to the orc town. Keep an eye on things. Return at morning to report."

The demon exhaled, and a transparent cloud of sulphur wafted out. It teleported in a red blaze.

Xardas iterated, but with a different destination in mind.

Scorpio ducked away from the cudgel.

The mercenary raised it again, but Scorpio stepped back and knocked it out of his hand with a swipe of the sword.

The attacker leapt aside from Scorpio's slash and charged, bare-handed, at the renegade guard.

His hands clenched on Scorpio's wrists, squeezing hard. The green glare in his eyes made the guard shiver.

Scorpio twisted to the side and pushed off the mercenary, then snatched the cudgel from the grass.

Mid-arc, cudgel met sword. Scorpio stomped on the mercenary's stomach. Sword dropped out of hand. Cudgel swept and met skin and bone and brain.

By the time he was done, the cudgel had acquired an artistic variety of gore on it. Slivers of flesh and bits of brain clung to it. Scorpio cleaned it on the grass.

What the hell was happening?

It was not so much the fight with the mercenary that startled Scorpio. Such things were commonplace. But there'd been something unearthly about the mercenary's movement – too slow, inelegant. Not to mention the eyes.

Several hours had passed since they – whoever they were – did something to the barrier. Since the dome flashed white and Scorpio's ears were on the eve of bleeding. These events were linked, he thought. He had to set out.

He pondered awhile about his next movement. The Old Camp was out of the question, unless he wanted Thorus and his pals to crucify him. The New Camp wasn't any better. Which meant…

There wasn't much fondness between Scorpio and the loonies, but survival beat the hell out of fondness.

Scorpio moved out under a clear sky, weapon bag over shoulder. Wolves cried their pleas for the moon. The Old Camp's towers reached up toward the silver sphere.

The tables had turned swiftly. One moment he was fine, teaching the guards in the inner circle how to handle a crossbow, and the next he was asked whether he'd take part in the raid. He'd barely escaped the outraged guards, having decided to go with a bang - stealing their weapons. In retrospect, it might have looked funny, running through the place with a bag of weapons and a huge crossbow slung on his back.

On the way to the swamp he thought whether any of the loonies would be interested in a weapon.

And the answer came a second later, but he did not like it.

"What the?"

The swamp blazed with eddying fire. Flame tips lashed out like tongues from hungry mouths. Howls of wolves met distant shrieks. Burning figures scampered like sprites.

Scorpio gazed open-mouthed, and noticed the arms that seized him far too late.

An orb of yellow light flashed behind the wide rock.

Xardas clung to it so as not to fall, and raised his head over the edge.

Throngs of blue-clad men scurried about absent-mindedly, ant-small against the unlit hole in the rock. Their expressions were blank, their eyes brilliant green, eerie.

Possessed.

The necromancer peered upward.

Above the grass-fringed hill, faint outlines of blue mounds jutted out, and a patch of red sky, glinting oddly.

Out of that patch stepped Saturas. Saturas...

Under the moon's shimmer, his face was discoloured and pale. His eyes bespoke possession.

Muffled cries sounded.

The water mage said a few words to a man in bright plate armour. The latter descended the hill, his limbs shifting awkwardly. He entered the forest of cracked, gray stone huts and dragged an old man out of it, a white-haired, wrinkly, yelping person. Moments later he was up the hill again, and the two entered the portal.

Before the portal shrunk, a shriek rang out, and then the crack of bones and squish of flesh.

The demon's appetite had soared in his millennium of slumber, Xardas thought before teleporting again.

Scorpio took hold of the limbs wrapped around him, and wrenched. He shoved back the ambushers, ignoring their painful shouts.

One of them fell on the grass, face upward. The other slammed into a tree. Loonies.

Scorpio unsheathed his two-hander, prowled close.

"Hey, man, don't! We just wanted to warn you not to go down there!"

"Do you always warn people by jumping on them?"

The one leaning against the tree crouched down, arms shielding his head.

"No, we just—"

"We're scared, okay?" said the one on the grass, his voice shaking with fright.

Scorpio stood still, hefting his two-hander. "Can you at least tell me what's going on?"

The other one tried to stand up, swayed, and fell against the tree again. "He has awoken."

"Who has awoken?"

"The mighty one! The Sleeper!" His eyes widened. "Our redeemer!"

Scorpio shook his head. Too much swampweed, he reckoned.

"Who are you, and what the hell's really happening?"

"My name's Ghorim." He got up from the grass, brushed a few blades off and pointed at the other. "And he's Joru."

"Well?" Scorpio frowned.

Ghorim helped his friend to his feet and said, "We'd left the camp to get some air, put some distance between us and the others, 'cause spirits were getting heated. We were relaxing, smoking some swampweed, and then the sky lit up. We covered our ears and closed our eyes, it was really tough. But then there was another noise, a big, angry screech… And it hurt so bad…"

He quivered.

"We knew what happened next, of course. The master had awakened. And he was upset with us. He said to us, 'You have proved yourself unworthy, you shall be cleansed!' Then… that happened."

Ghorim pointed at the scorching vista. The agonised screams had grown feeble.

"We woke up a little earlier. My head hurts like someone split it with a mace, and I think Joru's does too."

Scorpio arced his eyebrows. Was the Sleeper actually existent? It wasn't some crackpot's fantasy?

"It doesn't matter anymore… the redeemer broke his promise. Our freedom hasn't come."

"Don't say that! He can hear you!" Joru swivelled his neck, as though the trees and grass had ears.

Scorpio slouched down and sighed, removing the bag from his shoulder. He ran his hand across his brow.

So the sect was out too. The prospect of safe havens was burning like the trees down in the swamp.

"There is a cave nearby where we can hide for the moment," said Ghorim, pointing down the slope.

Scorpio got up and slung the bag again. His legs pulsated with ache. He followed the two novices, his head swimming with all the events of the day.

"You don't happen to want to buy some weapons, do you?"

It was still the dead of night when Xardas landed upon the fire mages' pentagram. The darkness was still.

Memories flooded back in the necromancer's mind. He ran his fingers across the bookstands over which he had often leant in study. They gathered dust in their motion.

Had they not feared his experiments, reviled them, they would all be free men now. But such was the will of the gods, and their cruelty reflected in the current situation.

The room stank of burned wood. Creaks sounded from the floor as he descended, and the railings were brittle.

No-one was there. Of course. They were dead, or worse.

The guards had lit a fire nearby, glowing orange against the dark blue surroundings, which melded almost seamlessly with the night sky. They seemed impervious to Xardas's presence. He moved on.

The Ore Barons' house was alive with grunts and laughter. Xardas ignored this, and slipped in after placing the two entry guards into a spell of sleep. They slumped down like puppets.

The necromancer pushed open many doors, until he found Gomez's room.

He lay wrapped in furs, and next to him was a bare-breasted woman.

Her eyes opened, widened.

Xardas shut her by magic before she could scream, then waved her away. She stumbled out of bed, her naked form glinting in the patch of moonlight from the window.

The magician trod to Gomez's side, and set his hand upon the man's face.

The ore baron blinked once before he was lost in the spell.

"Chaos flows," the demon said psychically.

"More exactly?" the necromancer said, raising his hand above his eyes to block the sunlight. Morning was stretching over the orc land. Purple mist curled around the trees and hills below the tower.

"The orcs are dead. The Sleeper unleashed the restive undead upon his former servants."

"All of them?" said Xardas, squinting into the demon's slimy face.

"Most. There are some who escaped, and those who roam in the land, but they too will die. The undead seek to sate their anger against their captors."

The archdemon's ingratitude was strong beyond reckoning. Which was no less than what Xardas expected of a being of Beliar.

"You have done well."

With a wave of the hand he dismissed the demon back into the other land.

All he could do now was wait.

The cave had offered them good enough protection. Physical protection, at least.

Throughout the entirety of the night, the three runaways had heard menacing growling. It stopped temporarily only to cast them into further anxiety when it recommenced moments afterwards.

Outside, the sun shed light in patches, partly obscured by shifting clouds. The air was damp.

Now the growling had been replaced by snoring and frantic buzzing. The forest had served them well for one night, but perhaps it had done so by luck only.

With that in mind, the three set out for a different shelter.

"Our friend Lester," said Ghorim, dark semicircles under his eyes, "told us something about a fortress in the mountain. Dunno how it sounds to you, but a fortress might be safer."

Joru was silent.

Scorpio grunted. He followed them more for their company than anything else. His crossbow and the slew of weapons he lugged around could protect him… while awake.

More slopes.

They emerged in a clearing. Gray boulders loomed all over, and the scene was sprinkled with dead trees.

A snarl interrupted Scorpio from his survey.

Several metres away prowled a bloodhound. It arced its supple body, lowering its jaw in surprising flexibility.

Before it got the chance to finish its leap, Scorpio shot a bolt in its head. It mewled before expiring.

Ghorim and Joru were waiting by the bridge. Scorpio could hardly hear their congratulations about the kill over the furious clamour of the river. Frothing white curls latched onto the bridge's underside.

The fortress sat atop another hill. It towered in its black magnificence, standing out against the misty background.

Scorpio glared at the immense statue of the orc warrior just outside its entrance. The monster pointed its axe downward, clutching its handle.

"Great," he whispered to himself, "a big fat orc is just what I need to brighten up my day..."

Inside the fortress they were greeted by gloom and choking dust.

"Looks really hospitable," said Scorpio, coughing out his lungs. His companions were doing the same.

The exploration proceeded, although requiring a lot of stumbling and climbing rickety ladders.

Eventually they chanced upon a balcony. All of them took in the crisp air.

Then they found the body.

"Is that-?"

The loonies approached the prone person. His back was expanding and contracting, so at least he was alive.

"Lester, man, what are you doing? Get up—"

Groaning, the bald man roused and stood. Pallor made his face glow. He gave a shudder before crumpling down to the stone.

"Are you all right?" asked Joru.

Lester moaned and said, "No… Nightmares… head-ache…"

As if by magic, Joru produced out of thin air a stalk of swampweed, lit it and handed it to his sect pal.

Lester inhaled, then breathed out green smoke.

"Thanks, I needed that." His eyes cleared up a little.

"But what about you guys? Did you feel it?"

Joru and Ghorim sat down on the floor.

"We have. The master-" said Joru, but he was cut short.

Lester flinched.

"Don't call him that… you know what Y'Berion said."

"Yeah, I know what he said," replied Joru, his words tinged with anger.

Scorpio observed this scene in obvious boredom. Talk of gods left him cold. He sighed.

Lester looked his way.

"Oh, that's ..."

"Scorpio," mumbled the ex-guard.

"Yeah, er, we met last night."

Lester squinted.

"Right," said Scorpio. "To be honest, I'm starving, I'll go hunt something. If you want some, you'd better help. Any of you got anything to burn stuff with?"

Lester said, "Maybe my magic can help?"

Scorpio frowned. He'd never been too fond of mages.

"I wonder what all of this is about," Graham told the Shadow, drawn by the shaping mob.

They were moving toward the inner gate, where Raven stood cross-armed. Graham joined out of curiosity.

Once a dozen or so people gathered, Raven started speaking.

"Listen up. Life's not been so easy these past few days."

That was an understatement. Besides from the guards being extra vicious about collecting the protection ore, fights had been sparked between shadows, diggers, and even guards themselves. They were determined to squeeze ore out of anyone, no matter the amount.

"The mine collapsing clearly hasn't had any positive effects. So we're going to attack the free mine again. All of us."

Exasperated sighs burst from the multitude, mixed with gasps of outrage. Raven's face darkened, his eyes narrowed. Several people stepped away.

"Our previous attacks failed not because they were ill-timed or ill-prepared, but because those snivelling mages ran away and ratted us out. But now they can't know when we're going to attack next."

A shadow near the front of the group said, his voice full of suspicion, "How do you know they haven't reinforced the guard? How do you know that they aren't expecting us?"

Raven blinked. "Ah—er, we've sent… a spy, last night, and he came back this morning. He said the coast was clear."

People began to mutter.

"If that doesn't suit you, maybe this will. Those who don't join in on the fight will be kicked out of the camp – at best. At worst, you're going to become rat food for our little friends in the dungeons."

All sound ceased.

"Your choice. Consider, what happened last night seemed to take place in the New Camp. Maybe it was some experiment that killed off a few scumbags."

Raven smirked.

"You're a sneaky lot, much sneakier than our guards. And better with bows. Plus, if it means anything to you, the traitors have left up a bunch of runes and scrolls in the temple. Could be useful."

"All right. Those of you who want to fight, gather outside the Ore Barons' house at midday to be instructed for the coming raid. The rest of you might as well line up in the dungeon. Questions?"

There were none.

"Good."

Raven whirled and set off toward the house. He himself was doubtful about Gomez's sudden plan to raid the mine again, but he trusted him. And if anything happened to Gomez, all the better for Raven.

Hunting's not what it used to be, thought Scorpio, dodging the templars' swipes.

Apparently, last night's fire hadn't gobbled up all of the sect people. Some of them made it through and started wandering around. A couple had stumbled upon Scorpio in his search for scavengers, and they meant business.

There was none of that awkward posture Scorpio'd seen in the mercenary. These were motivated people, elegant in their techniques, and a bit too deadly for his liking.

Scorpio leant to the left as the first templar's blade struck against stone. He let out a howl as the second cut across his arm with his sharp two-hander.

The guard dashed down the hill, seeking cover, a place to shoot the loonies without interference. Within seconds he stood on the border of the eastern forest, hidden midst tall oaks.

Scorpio stepped on the grass, and it rustled. He took aim.

The templar fell sideways. Blood gushed out of the bolt wound in his neck.

Infuriated at his friend's demise, the remaining templar charged toward the tree behind which Scorpio hid.

The ex-guard swung his sword wide, knocking the templar's two-hander into the air.

A swift move afterwards, this one too collapsed, curtains of hot blood cascading out of his torn throat.

It was too sudden, this jump into madness everyone in the Colony had taken. Too abrupt. It felt weakness to bear in mind, but a festering sense of fear was expanding inside Scorpio…

Climbing the hill, he looked back. The Sect Camp was a black, smouldering smudge on the horizon, a few last wisps of smoke winding in the air.

He heard fighting. Crouching down behind a rock, he craned his neck and observed.

The orc was furious, frantic. It slashed at its undead attackers, grunting as it spun. But it was overnnumbered.

Like thirsty bloodflies, the dozen skeletons swarmed the creature, burying it under a clatter of dirty bones. The orc whimpered. Within moments, what was left of it scarcely resembled a body. It was more like a spat half-chewed pear, connected loosely by strings of gristle and shards of bone, coated fitfully in fur.

Fear, more than anything, kept Scorpio rooted to the spot. His heartbeat rattled the armour's metal.

The skeletons stared eyelessly at the mutilated corpse a few seconds, then returned the way they came. For a moment, Scorpio thought they were heading up to the fortress, but they turned right, crossing an unsteady-looking bridge toward a crumbling building.

Too much for one day. Far too much. He wished none of this had happened, that he had chosen to assist his fellow guards in their villainous pursuit, instead of being forced to cower in fortresses and be assaulted by madmen at every turn.

Scorpio lifted and turned his head so many times it felt like it would drop soon. But the way to the fortress was clear. No grunting orcs or cracking undead littered the upward slope.

But neither were Ghorim and Joru there, on the balcony. Only that Lester fellow, shuddering slightly, sitting on the cold stone.

"No success. I couldn't find any scavengers. But I did find some of your sect friends. Weren't very friendly."

He said it mostly to see whether he could still talk. His words came out in stutters.

Lester sighed. "I've seen some of them myself, earlier. They didn't seem too interested in this fortress, though. Good for us."

"Where's the other two?" asked Scorpio.

"I don't know. I only woke up a little time ago. Odd that they've left like that, they're not the bravest sort."

"They've chosen a bad time to leave, then…"

And he told Lester of the undead and the overpowered, slaughtered orc.

Lester gazed at nothing in particular. His eyes seemed covered by a hazy veil.

"So it's not been just in my dreams."

"What?"

"I've seen undead in my dreams. Pouring out of a temple. Butchering orcs as they went along. And they were commanded by…"

Horror flitted across Lester's pale face.

"It couldn't be… but then again, I don't know what to believe anymore. I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well…"

He lay back on the floor and closed his eyes. Scorpio did the same, in spite of his stomach's grumbling. Food would have to wait.

Both of them woke that night, under the roiling of a huge mass of clouds. Light zigzagged randomly across that mass, illuminating the dark outline of the fortress.

But then something else stirred behind the thick mantle. There rang the telltale sign of something coming into contact with the barrier, a keen electric buzz.

Something winged streaked across the obscured skies.

Lester and Scorpio fled inside, their heads poking through the doorless archway.

Not water poured out of the sky, but flame.

The dragon circled down upon the earth, spitting long lashes of fire that enveloped grass and earth and mountain.

Under their feet, the earth quaked briefly.

The dragon's roar swept through the fortress, rattling chains and shaking dust off walls. Then, all was still.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Scorpio was frozen. No action came to mind, no plan of escape. Just a spreading sense of dread, a feeling that certain death sat right above them.

Lester was shuddering. He had slumped on the dusty floor, crossing his arms.

For a while, Scorpio remained in torpor. Moments passed. Then he said, "We have to go now, before the clouds clear up."

So much was obvious. But where? The orc land was out of the question. The old camp as well.

Lester's whisper was barely audible over the growl of clouds. "I'm sure the swamp temple is still standing... it's not like anyone lived in it since Y'Berion died."

A plan as good as any, thought Scorpio. So long as it didn't bring them closer to mad templars, orcs, or undead. But...

"And do you think all of your belligerent friends are dead? I've had a close encounter with them not so long ago."

Lightning burst. The dragon overhead roared in displeasure.

"Well, what do you prefer?" said Lester, his voice tinged with the slightest humour. "Dragons, or templars?"

Scorpio glared.

They waited until the lightning ceased. Then, struggling to make as little sound as possible, they climbed down the ladder and stepped out of the fortress.

The ground was soggy, slippery, and grew even more so in the downpour. Despite that, the air was fresh and fragrant - godsent, after so much time in the dust-clogged corridors. There was no point in carrying around the bag of weapons, so Scorpio took the bare minimum - his two-hander, crossbow and a short sword, just in case.

All their hopes were directed at the dragon's blindness in the rain, or perhaps his fatigue after a long flight from wherever it came. There was no certainty, but it defeated the dread of having to wait.

Something clashed against the midnight gloom. Before the orc statue, a greenish, blurry patch spread out, unfurling. It stank of rotting corpses and viler things.

Hisses sounded from behind - or inside - that mist.

Lester and Scorpio scurried down the slope, having had their fill of strange and dangerous occurrence for the day. The way down was not without its fright, and they stopped to catch their breath only when they reached the bottom.

Something red and scaly peered over from the top of the hill. Then it turned and disappeared.

Shortly thereafter, the clouds dispersed. A glaring white moon took its position up in the sky.

The dragon stood at the top of the fortress. Its skin seemed a crisscross of light grey and black. It occasionally flapped its wings, but exerted no greater effort.

Scorpio pondered during the journey to the camp.

He'd never thought he'd wish to be free, to have the barrier fall and go out into the open world.

The time when he'd killed the mage seemed so distant, so eerie. But he was sure it wasn't so to the others, the mage's friends and family, the city guard... almost anyone from the harbour town.

Even so, shunning was better than the current circumstances. Angry glares, shouts, maybe even refusal of service from certain merchants were nothing next to having a sword shoved in you or being scorched alive by dragon fire.

Lester was silent.

Scorpio watched him as they went. His shoulders were slumped, and his breath came out choppy and short.

"Are you all right?" Scorpio asked.

A sort of moan left Lester's mouth. Scorpio abandoned all attempts at conversation.

"I'd kill for a hot fire and a fried piece of scavenger," he thought. Perhaps he'd find those in the swamp.

The road down seemed interminable.

His armour clung to his body, sodden and ponderous. He felt like flinging it away. He wiped away the mixed water and sweat from his brow.

The distance was blurry through his sleep-hungering eyes. The smouldering carcass of the swamp camp still lay there, touching the sea. All the fires had been crushed by the rain.

Lester's face was a perfect portrait of dread. His eyes bulged out and skidded in their sockets. He stooped a little, as if he were in pain.

"What, you want to turn back now?"

The loony started, as if he hadn't been aware of the man standing next to him.

"No, no... of... of course not."

And he took a shivery step forward, swaying a little on the matted grass.

Perhaps Scorpio's memory betrayed him, but he could remember vaguely a gate made of wood - as everything else in the camp, unfortunately - just at the entrance to the swamp. Lumps of charred wood were all that remained. Flakes broke apart from them and glided in the nightly air.

Farther on, the crumpled figures of tents dotted the walkways... or what remained of them. Pools of filthy water had amassed in hollow spots, rippling softly with each flake of wood that landed upon them.

Together they trod on the sludge: Scorpio with intent, Lester falteringly.

"And where are we supposed to stay? You want us to cover ourselves in mud or-"

Something cracked under his boot. He glanced down.

He must've stepped a bit too hard. The bald man's eyes had squeezed out of his skull, along with a few pieces of bone and nondescript flesh. He couldn't help but wince a little. The man's body was submersed entirely in mud, save for his head.

Lester whimpered. He had pressed against a colossal tree and gripped his own neck, as if intending to choke himself. When he came off, a gluey chunk of ash stuck to his robe.

"I had no... no idea it would look like this..."

The novice looked down and screamed. Someone's arm was poking through the ground, gray and motionless. Lester shook even harder.

Scorpio gave Lester some time to compose himself. Frogs croaked.

Minutes later, Lester took a deep breath, / and said, "I don't think we can stay here. But I'm sure the temple is still standing."

He pointed through the lopsided trees and fallen tents. A stone structure lay tucked into the hillside, glinting with water in the moon's glow. They directed their steps there.

The stairs were slick with water and ash, requiring the two to hold onto the stone platforms parallel to it. Moonlight shone on the steps.

When they reached the top, Lester drew a small stone from his pocket, raised his arm, and caused a ball of light to spring up. The tunnel that led within was not lit.

Scorpio wondered why Lester hadn't used that rune before, but then he groaned in relief. Finally, rest was within sight.

"Oh man, I feel like I could sleep on stone..."

But he wouldn't sleep. The dozens of walking dead, coated in filth and torn robes would see to it.

With broken necks, twisted arms and oozing flesh, they turned in unison towards their newly entered prey. Beside Scorpio, Lester stood frozen - as if made of the same stone that surrounded them.

Scorpio clutched Lester's shoulder and yanked him back, then whirled.

Foetid breath splashed onto his face.

The zombie's flesh had turned a bluish gray. Rows of yellow teeth gleamed beneath ripped cheeks. It reached out.

Its hand thudded to the floor. The zombie groaned as thick dark blood flowed out of its arm.

Scorpio repeated the movement, only this time a bit higher. The undead novice reeled back, its throat sliced open. It tumbled down the slippery stairs.

Now the mass of zombies from within the temple inched closer. They bumped into each other, moaning with fleshlust, their stench poisoning the damp air. Scorpio backed away...

...and found himself many steps below, his bones aching like someone had crushed them with a hammer. The fall had beaten all the air out of him. For a while, he saw the dark sky above sprinkled with stars, and heard the rasping of zombies. Then he got up, his feet slipping a little.

Lester was at the top of the stairs, almost fully encircled by the undead that flung their arms at him...

The bolt whistled as it flew. The zombie in which it had plunged gave a groan, toppled forwards. Gleaming blue flames burst from its corpse. Its companions stared down at the attacker.

Another zombie fell. Foolishly, they abandoned Lester and descended the stairs.

It was almost too easy. Devoid of human intelligence, driven solely by hunger, they gave no attention to the manner in which they climbed down. Almost comically they fell off the stairs in a flurry of rotten limbs.

"Lester, are you all right?"

Scorpio stepped forth, set foot on the first stair. Lester was stock-still.

The zombies made little sound as they rose and surrounded Scorpio.

Their hands were cold and slimy, their skin gritty. If they had lost their mind in death, they had not lost their strength. Scorpio writhed fruitlessly. He could feel his arms go numb...

A wave of heat spread behind Scorpio. The grip of his captors loosened.

Winged and misshapen, the demon slashed with its keen claws at the startled undead. It spat jets of fire at them, and they staggered, set aflame.

Scorpio drew his two-hander and joined the slaughter.

He poured all of his anger, all of his fright into his blows. The sword felt lighter than ever before, and the way it hissed as it danced through flesh was sweet song to the guard's ears.

Soon, all that could be heard were the croak of frogs, Scorpio's heavy breath, and the demon's equally heavy wingflap.

Scorpio was confused. Why had the demon helped him? And why wasn't it attacking him like it did the zombies?

Still, he did not sheathe his sword, but pointed it at the monster. It did nothing but breathe, its form hovering in the air.

"Stow away your weapon. I am not here to kill you."

The words were heard, but no mouth had moved. Scorpio flinched and moved a few steps back.

"I must take you to my master. He shall explain everything."

The demon outstretched its scaly arms and wings.

The world grew soft red a second before they teleported.

Scorpio stumbled and fell. He hit his face on the dusty, cracked stone.

When he got up, he caught sight of the room around him. All the light came from the five candles which had been placed at each of the five points of the pentagram. Scorpio stood in its middle, and Lester was a short distance away. The latter was as silent as ever.

"Follow me. The master is upstairs."

The demon cast grisly shadows upon the gray walls as it led them upwards. They arrived upon an open platform, which offered a majestic sight of the area around it. There was a lake at the base of the tower, its water black and still. Distant drumbeats rang in the night.

But before they could further examine things, the demon growled and pointed through another doorway.

There was a table in this circular room, and on it were strewn dozens of books, some open, others closed, piled upon each-other with no sign of care. A pentagram-shaped chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the figure below.

He sat at the table, his lowered head showing short gray hair. It looked as though a large bat had clung to his shoulders, but closer inspection revealed it to be the armour the man was wearing. An armour of nightly deep blue.

He flipped a page. The sound of it was soft.

Then he raised his head.

"Thank you. You may go."

And with a wave of red light, the demon dispersed.

The old man stood up and whirled. His eyes were white, his face so deeply furrowed it looked as though it had been slashed with a million blades.

Scorpio had been recently thrown into the Barrier when Xardas the High Fire Mage abandoned the Old Camp. No-one in the Old Camp had bothered to look for him, assuming him dead.

"I assume you both know who I am."

Scorpio opened his mouth, but Lester got ahead.

"Xardas the Necromancer!"

Scorpio stared at him.

Xardas bowed his head. "Indeed I am."

"You are surely wondering why I have sent my demon to seek you out... And I shall give you the answer, come morning."

He beckoned the two out of the study. The sky was turning grayish-blue, and the moon was sinking.

"In the floor below you will find a sleeping chamber. Rest there until tomorrow. My demons shall bring you food. We will talk thereafter."

And the sorcerer walked away towards the edge of the platform. He crossed his arms and sighed.

Scorpio accepted this quick dismissal, yearning for sleep even if it was proffered by a dark wizard. Lester gazed at Xardas, as still as the old man himself. Scorpio prodded him in the shoulder. Together they climbed down the ladder.

The air in the corridors stank of sulphur.

Rickety and old though they were, the beds provided much needed rest. After several hours of blissful sleep, Scorpio alighted from his bed.

Lester sat on his, the black circles under his eyes more prominent than ever.

"You couldn't sleep?" asked Scorpio.

Lester replied with a shake of the head.

"I tried, but I... I can't."

And he sighed so deeply he quivered a little. He glimpsed Scorpio's sword and winced.

A small table in the corner of the room held apples, ham, and some bread. The two devoured their meal as starving wolves devoured scavengers. An instant passed, and all that remained of the food were bread crumbs and apple cores.

Up above, the sun cast its glow upon the Orc Land. It was a perfectly warm day, with no clouds to deter the light, yet still the place had an eerie feel to it.

Murders of crows perched upon the tower's horns, glaring down at them and cawing ominously.

The necromancer was once again lost in research. His hands lay upon a thick tome, the pages of which were bumpy and brown and decorated with arcane symbols.

He turned his head toward Scorpio and Lester.

"Ah, I almost forgot. You, from the Sect... I've had my demons concoct a potion for your headaches."

Lester's eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Don't ask how I knew, it is insignificant... Go."

The second Lester disappeared down the stairs, Xardas slammed the book shut and got up. With a wave of the hand he lit the five candles above them.

"I shall be honest. The reason I brought you here is that I need you, both of you, to do something for me."

Scorpio crossed his arms and glared.

"And why'd we do anything for you?"

The necromancer did not falter.

"I have shown you great hospitality in accepting you here, in my tower. And I've heard that my demon has rescued you from the sect people's hungry grasp."

Scorpio could no longer hold it in. His thirst for explanations burst out of him with the force of a river breaking through a dam.

"Just what's going on? Why can't a day pass in here without getting attacked by mercenaries or sect people or zombies or dragons?"

The blankness of the necromancer's eyes reflected on his face. He replied in his deep voice, "Follow me."

He led him out of the study, and again onto the open platform. Still that drumbeat.

"Look upwards."

Xardas pointed a thin, gray finger toward the sky.

How had Scorpio not noticed?

The usual blue colour of the barrier had turned red. The bolts of energy snaked across the sky with disconcerting speed.

"A few days ago, the fire and water mages united their efforts to destroy the barrier."

So that's why they'd fled. Just a few hours before Scorpio himself took his leave from the Old Camp, the fire mages had done quite a show in the inner ring, burning some of his colleagues. He didn't feel sorry for them.

"Needless to say, the barrier is intact. What they've done is awakened a demon. A demon who'd lain dormant before the halfwits' interference."

Scorpio gave a "hmph!" and said, "The Sleeper?"

Xardas turned to Scorpio, and said, his voice full of loathing, "Do not scoff. Simply because you do not believe he exists does not make the after effects any less dramatic than what they currently are."

He turned away again.

"As you must have observed, this attempt has changed more than the colour of the barrier.

"The demon's cruelty is far-reaching and indiscriminate. He has turned his awakeners into mindless drones. He has also placed his demonic minions inside the people that beheld the process. Their purpose is to seek out nourishment for their master. Nourishment in the form of human flesh."

Scorpio's insides twisted.

"For his followers he has reserved a more... special treatment. The orcs who brought him into the world are now being systematically hunted by their undead slaves. The swamp worshippers are torn from death, turned into beings that crave human flesh, just like their master."

"What-"

"Do not interrupt me!" the necromancer bellowed. "The land is even less safe than it was before. Undead roam the land, pursuing the scurrying orcs... And a group of orcs have something that we need, if we are to alleviate the situation."

Xardas lowered his voice to a near-whisper.

"Somewhere in these valleys there are several orcs who have stolen a powerful artefact. Their intention is laudable, but foolish. They intend to use it against the Sleeper, but are unaware that, in its present state, the artefact of which I speak is useless. The centuries have drained it of its magic powers.

"It is a sword from the olden days... an ore blade dubbed Uriziel. Replete with magic energy, it will possess powers with which we will slay the Sleeper.

"I have sent cohorts of demons to roam the land in search of these orcs, but they have been unable to find any trace of them."

Scorpio cleared his throat. "How are we supposed to do a better job than these demons of yours?"

Xardas peered over the edge of the platform. "Your friend... he hasn't been feeling well lately, has he?"

"Does this matter? And he's not my friend, he's more of a com-"

"Be quiet!" The mage scowled. "I suspect that, before the recent turn of events, your friend was a very powerful magic user within his community. As such... his bond with the demon was strong even whilst he slept, but now that the Sleeper has awakened..."

Xardas began pacing.

"You might find it hard to believe, but the orcs inside the barrier share the sect people's magic. Never having come into contact with one-another, they could not be aware of this fact. This bond too has strengthened, due to the awakening. I have reason to believe that your friend can see where the orcs are hiding. Each orc group operates solely under the guidance of a shaman."

"And what's my part in this?" asked Scorpio.

"It is simple. You will have to protect your friend. I would have sent my demons to accompany him, but I fear that more magical presence around him will only further his pain. And I have already exerted myself far too much in summoning the demons..."

Scorpio scratched his brow. "What am I to gain out of all this?"

The wind howled, fluttering the mage's deep blue robe. Crows cawed and took flight, zooming across the treetops like black arrows. The necromancer sighed.

"The world out there has grown darker. You are no longer safe residing anywhere other than here, no matter the magnitude of your skills. If you do not obey my orders, you shall sleep in caves or out in the open, a perfect feast in waiting for the hungering dead."

Scorpio gripped his two-hander and said, "Well, if you put it that way..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He waited until the man was gone, whose name he had not even bothered learning.

Xardas returned to his study and sat down. He flung open the book, took hold of a nearby scroll of parchment and began writing down the spell.

The soft scribble of the quill cleared his mind, and affixed his attention upon the weaving of magic incantations. These were old and mighty spells, contained by books men had long since banned. They dealt with the transfusion of magic energy from one source to the other. This not only applied to inanimate objects, but also living beings. It was more than possible to sap a human being of power, and redirect it into an object. But more often than not, this meant death for the human. Magic was part of a human's soul, the life force Innos had bestowed upon the human race.

It could not be said that Xardas cared for any of the people inside the Colony. Murderers, thieves, criminals of all sorts - death would be fitting punishment. He needn't deliver the punishment himself... the demons and zombies wandering freely across the land would see to it. And, after all, he wouldn't risk revealing himself... the intricate plans he'd been weaving would founder in a split second.

Xardas was unaware of the passing time. The sun arced across the sky, not once casting a beam of its light into the study.

A flutter of wings.

"What is it?" asked Xardas, tracing a complex symbol upon the uneven parchment.

"I have found something intriguing in the ruined swamp."

"In what way... intriguing?"

"There is a sort of pedestal there, alike those you had built for the placement of the focus stones."

The demon did not speak aloud. It gave out deeply heavy breaths.

"And what can you tell me of it?" Xardas set down the quill.

"It is strongly magical. I could feel the thrum of energy from miles away. It is not human magic."

"Orcish?" Xardas frowned, then gasped a little. "But of course... the orcs were the sole inhabitants of the area, until not too long ago..."

The bench creaked as Xardas parted from it.

The demon loomed in the doorway, its winged form fully opaque.

"I trust you have not been detected?"

A rope of fire issued from the demon's mouth. It lashed in the air, but Xardas did not flinch.

"Of course I have not! I am no fool." The demon settled, its wingbeat grew slower. "But you should be careful. The area is rife with undead and their ilk."

"It seems you deem me a fool!" Xardas growled. "I know of the undead and their strengths. They are easily dispatched."

"As you say, master," the demon said, and without being dismissed, vanished in a wave of red light.

Xardas rolled up the parchment and stowed it in the bookshelf, behind several heavy, leatherbound tomes, then left the study.

A movement of hands and an utterance of words were enough to compose a wall of blue magic energy around the study's entrance.

He neared the edge of the platform and gazed down. The sect member was kneeling on the grass far below, perfectly still.

"Whence this resistance?" thought Xardas. The strength of the Sleeper's magic ought to have killed him long ago. But the necromancer didn't regret the present state of things.

And with that thought, Xardas stretched out his arms and teleported.

The day's light struck down upon the scorched earth. Unbearable stench emanated from everywhere, the earthen smell of the swamp joined with the odour of rot.

Xardas moved through the mire with unease. The mud was many centimetres deep, and made wading through it a pain. The necromancer swatted at the clouds of mosquitoes buzzing about and set out on his search.

Burnt logs jotted out from the loose earth, covered in black and dark red. The murky water bubbled and popped, as if it were boiling.

Everything else was silent.

No undead. Not a single shambling zombie running with arms stretched toward him.

Xardas slid a hand into his robe and drew out a firestorm rune.

He made his way forth across the ruined walkways, stumbling and clutching trees and boulders for support. Soon he left the dwelled area. The wild part of the swamp opened out in front of him, scattered with clumps of colossal trees. Sunlight filtered greenly through their leaves, swathing the area in a gloomy haze.

Xardas closed his eyes. A tingling sense was spreading through him, sending chills through his veins at odds with the pervading swelter.

The reek strengthened.

And somewhere deep, between the dark outlines of trees and flickering shadows, something bluish was stirring.

Xardas trod forth and nearly fell. The ground there was more water than mud, slicker than the clearest ice.

Squelching steps sounded, along with rasped breaths. Xardas tautened and took care of the problem.

The zombies reeled before the bright light, but for naught. They bumped into trees, clutching their flaming limbs, shrieking in horrid pain. The flames slid up the high tree-trunks, burning them.

Xardas repeated the spell, aiming at another group of decomposing sect members.

In a few moments, the whole vista glowed orange, and the smoke given off by the flames mixed with the noxious stench of death. Xardas coughed, his throat tearing with the pain.

Weakness burrowed inside the necromancer. He waved his arm to dispel the fire, then stood motionless awhile, composing himself.

Admitting it was far greater agony than the feeling of his raw throat, but denial seemed foolish…And he was no fool. The awakening of the Sleeper had taken its toll on him…

A part of him considered to turn back; to teleport away to the tower and rest. Xardas then opened his eyes and grimaced. He felt disgusted at himself. He wiped his face with his robe's sleeve and set off.

Within minutes, the blue light was clearly visible. A spheric cloud of magical energy, swirling atop a pedestal.

Xardas staggered toward it. He raised a tentative hand and reached out...

Millions of invisible arrows pierced the necromancer's skin, yet the feeling was blissful, empowering...

He knew not how long he stood there, his hand immersed in the energy sphere. But when he broke from it, he felt a surge of power coursing through him, giving sweet rejuvenation.

The orb hummed intensely for a moment, and then it faded. It was gone. Xardas had absorbed it entirely.

And then the necromancer fell to his knees, great pain welling up in his head.

Against a black portal stood the Sleeper. It flung out its insect arms and roared, and in a voice that sounded like a choir of crickets, it said: "You..."

Scorpio confronted Lester whilst the latter sat down by the tower's entrance. The ex-guard was pithy and succint, telling the novice everything the necromancer had revealed.

"But how did he know?"

Lester scrambled up and moved away from Scorpio. A look of distrust formed upon the former's face, adding to the eeriness of his visage.

"So it's true, then? You have been seeing these orcs?"

Disconcertion ambled through Scorpio's mind. What else could the necromancer see?

"Yes, I have, but I've- I've tried to block it out, but nothing worked."

Scorpio frowned. "Well then- what do we do next? You think you can manage the journey?" Not that it mattered. That's why Scorpio was there.

"I'm not sure…but if finding those orcs means I'll get rid of these damn head-aches, I'm ready as can be."

Scorpio gave a curt nod.

"So, where are they?"

Lester whipped his head at him. Then he sat down again, and laid his head against the tower's black wall.

Everything was dressed in black mist. The wind howled stronger than ever.

Crooked spires loomed in the middle of a chasm...

Distant, the small outline of a fire brought light into the cave. A figure crouched there, its small black eyes whizzing in its head. Its face was painted white, and several feathers adorned its head.

Three taller orcs paced around the shaman, their hands clasping the axes on their belts.

Something swooped, blinding the fire for a mere moment. Then the shaman leapt to its feet, and Lester saw something glinting next to the fire... the blade of a sword. Orcish cries mingled with the wind.

Lester opened his eyes and sighed.

"What did you see?" Scorpio asked.

"I don't know where they are. I saw a tower. The orcs were in a cave overlooking that tower…but I don't think they'll be alive much longer…and it makes no sense, it was night…they're probably dead already. Wait a minute..."

The novice pressed his palms into his eyes and groaned a little. "I think I know where it is…Before they let me join, they made me gather plants, a really rare kind that only grows in ruins…and there was a tower there..."

"And where is this place?"

"Not far from here," said Lester, shooting Scorpio a fearful glance.

An hour or so later, they arrived at the deserted citadel. Its dirty, jagged walls jutted upwards. The wind sounded strange as it flowed through the place.

"Wait, what was-"

Scorpio was cut across by Lester's yell. Entirely out of instinct, Scorpio grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him down on the earth.

The skeleton's eyes glowed red, casting their light upon the fleshless, filthy face. The lower half of its body was gone; its frayed, tattered robe fluttering with the wind.

It glided across the path, its arms spread out. In a few moments, it was gone.

Lester's arm stiffened under Scorpio's grasp. His eyes widened and did not move.

"Lester? Are you all right? We have to move, before it..."

Lester pushed him out of the way just in time. The wall behind them exploded as the skeleton's ice spell clashed against it.

Before Scorpio got the chance to stand up and draw his blade, Lester was already on his feet and running.

With a wild cry, Lester swung his mace at the skeleton, dispersing its form into millions of bone shards. Again he hit, and again, and again, until all that remained of the undead was a pile of dust gathered inside a bit of cloth.

Scorpio gaped at him.

For a moment, the novice looked frightening: his hands clutching the mace, his whole body heaving in anger. A part of Scorpio did not deem standing up a good decision, but he realised there was nothing about Lester that he should fear. He'd trained almost his entire life, Lester'd be dead before he even lifted his weapon to strike.

"Come on. It's somewhere around here," said Lester, in a voice that still betrayed an unspent ounce of fury.

Lester stepped on the rubble at his feet and started moving. He took Scorpio down a narrow valley in the side of the mountain. It ended at the base of the citadel. A few metres away they could see a rickety bridge sway in the wind, and beyond it, a sort of tower rising: its spires were sharp and weathered. Crows sat perched on it, dotting it black.

They looked around awhile, then found the cave.

"Well, this can't be right..."

Empty. Completely empty. No orcs, no sword, no nothing, save for the chitter of bats inside and the dusty smell that poked their nostrils.

"So what does this mean?" asked Scorpio.

Lester craned his neck to examine the area. He ran his hands across the walls, then looked at them, finding them to be covered in several centimetres of dark dust.

"I- I don't know," Lester murmured. His voice had regained its low, weary tone; his weapon arm hung limp by his side. "This is the place, I'm sure of it…But..."

A drum-like sound came from outside. They rushed out.

The bridge bobbed up and down under the weight of the marching creatures. Their skin was red and scaly. Black, jagged-looking swords hung from their belts.

Scorpio and Lester dashed back in. They hoped their breaths wouldn't be heard.

Strange hisses sounded above them, accompanied by the trampling of feet. And all was silent.

They lingered until the monsters had marched away. Once the sound of their marching had dimmed, Scorpio loosed his two-hander from its scabbard and hurled it across the cave.

He felt the burning desire to pick it up and slice Lester to bits, and the monsters too, and everyone in the Colony until only he remained alive. All of them should be punished, maimed, tortured - what was in their head, trying to mess with the Barrier? And what if it had broken, what then? The world did not take kind to murderers and thieves and other scum. Scorpio knew that all too well. From prisoners they'd turn into game for militiamen and their ilk. Nothing made sense...

He clenched his fists so hard until it felt like his fingers had splintered. Then he stalked towards where the sword had fallen, and put it on his back.

"Got any other bright ideas? Or should we just put ourselves on the ground for them to eat us?"

Lester kept silence. He lowered his head, half-closed his eyes. "This is the place. I know it is. But…"

"Forget it," snapped Scorpio. "Let's go back to the tower. Maybe we'll actually manage to get there alive."

And on that note, Scorpio strode out of the cave and up the valley again. He wanted to punch the citadel's walls to dust.

Release was only a few metres away, a bit stronger in number than Scorpio had wanted.

Lizards. Hissing at him, drawing their weapons. Scorpio waited no more.

He dived forth as if plunging into the sea. He slashed at his foes with wild abandon, yet not without awareness.

The lizards blocked, stepped back. Skilled enemies they were, swift and perilous. But they faltered before the pure rage Scorpio flooded into his hits, into the wide sweeping movements of his blade.

All the oxygen in the world had drained when the battle ended. Scorpio's chest rose and fell so strongly that it almost propelled him. He whirled round.

Lester was on the ground, either unconscious or dead. Above him hovered another robed skeleton.

He did not draw his sword this time.

His fury had not all drained, so he poured all his remaining anger into crushing the skeleton's skull with his bare hands. His arms burnt, he yelped. The undead crashed to the earth: a motionless pile of bones.

"Lester?"

He gripped him by his robes and dragged him up, then shook him a little. The novice did not respond. When Scorpio's breath grew slow and calm, the guard laid his ear against Lester's nose. He was still breathing, yet the sound of it was fainter than a breeze fluttering through grass.

Scorpio stood up with a grunt and picked the man up. He set down the path with Lester hanging from his shoulder.

He laid Lester on the ground and gazed up.

A hemisphere of energy had formed around the necromancer's tower. Blue tendrils swirled across its surface, crackling and humming.

Hisses sounded from behind. Scorpio took Lester's unconscious form and hid behind a copse of trees.

The lizards halted before the dome. The one closest to the barrier beckoned another to step forth.

Reluctantly, it paced across the wall of the barrier.

A second later, it fell on the other side. Its body was still. Tiny bolts of energy leapt upon the corpse for a while longer.

Sibilation filled the air, cold and menacing. The head-lizard hesitated a second, then ordered his troops away. The group pounded up the way Scorpio had just trodden.

When he raised his eyes again, Scorpio saw a figure emerge from one of the towers, then disappear.

A whoosh of magic, a flash of yellow light, and Xardas materialised in front of them.

His face was bleak, his lids half-covering his eyes. He flung his arms wide, and Scorpio felt again the heat and haze of teleportation.

A moment later they were all atop the open platform: Xardas rushing into his study, Scorpio standing near Lester, who was still out. The guard picked him up and dragged him into the necromancer's study.

No candles had been lit this time. The tall bookshelves were all shadows, with a smudge of lighter colour here and there. The books upon the table were indistinct, blurry. Even the necromancer's form was hard to discern.

He was leaning across the table, his arms surrounding him. But for the feeble sound of his exhalation, Scorpio would have thought him dead.

"We didn't find them. We found the place, but it was empty."

Xardas gave a groan.

"Bring him inside," the necromancer said, his voice dim.

"Er..." Scorpio shifted Lester to the other shoulder - this one was getting numb."About that… I was busy fighting some of those lizards, but I think some floating skeleton came and did something to him. He's fainted."

Xardas raised his head and turned it an inch.

"So I see…Get him down to my demons, they know magic that can bring him back. Leave now, for I am…in no condition..."

The necromancer's voice trailed off; he said no more.

Scorpio headed out of the chamber and down the stairs until he reached the pentagram.

One of Xardas's demons was there, the air full of the laborious flap of its wings.

He told him of Lester. The demon instructed Scorpio to lay him on the pentagram. That being done, the demon began uttering a string of incantations. Its voice was harsh, grating, unmelodious. It circled Lester, tracing symbols into the air with its claws.

This process dragged on for what felt like hours. The demon stopped in midair, turned toward Scorpio, and said, "It is done. He requires rest. Once that is done, I advise you to take him to my master. He will want a word with him."

Lester slowly got up from the floor. Even as he stood, his figure was slumped. He took several blundering steps toward the sleeping chamber, aided by Scorpio, then collapsed in a deep, silent sleep.

Scorpio took off his sword harness and cast it on the ground, then he slipped onto his bed. He didn't bother to take off his armour; he was not sure he was capable to.

His dreams unfolded. In the dream world, he saw his life. He felt like it belonged to another person. He saw himself grow up in Khorinis, trained by his father in the art of sword combat. Then there was the day he was admitted to the militia…and then the event that changed his life. He had murdered the mage. Weeks passed…the jail he had thrown people in had now become his home…Until that day. Until he was hurled through the barrier. The toil and labour it had costed to become one of the guards washed over him even as he slept, and he tossed a little in his sheets. But afterwards…everything was perfect. He trained the other guards like his father had trained him, and was paid handsomely for it.

And then the string of bad luck began to weave. The exile. He had found temporary peace living with Cavalorn, but even that had ended.

The scene blurred.

A great insect grew in his mind's eye, many-legged and horrid. It screeched at him; the sound pierced his ears...

He jolted awake, torrents of sweat trickling down his face. Many blinks were required to remove the hot fog covering his eyes.

He flung aside the covering and stood out of bed. His bones ached terribly. The air inside was stuffy; the candlelight cleft his eyes. And the reek of sulphur...

His footsteps echoed in the narrow corridors. Up and up he went, desperately craving clean air, and a chance to clear his mind, even for a second.

A gust of wind caressed his face. Calm, purple skies unfolded overhead, perfectly visible through the now transparent barrier. Scorpio breathed a mouthful of the cool air, and strode to the edge of the platform. He gazed down upon the trees and the dark lake at the base of the tower, letting the wind and crow song push away the thoughts and the fears.

"A war starts soon."

The voice was like the wind: soft, weary.

Xardas's face held such a pale colour that it seemed to shine against the dark surroundings. His whole expression bespoke great fatigue, and his posture added to this impression.

"Who's fighting?" asked Scorpio, vaguely interested.

The necromancer took another step outside the shadow. His short hair rustled in the wind.

"The men in the Old Camp will meet in battle with those from the New, tomorrow."

Had he misheard? Those birds cawed so damn loudly.

"Gomez and his guards? Fighting?" He chuckled at the ridiculousness.

Fair enough, they had planned an attack... But he did not know much of it; he'd made clear his intention of staying out of it as soon as he'd heard. That was why he was in this mess, he thought.

"Yes. And this time they are not fighting from the shadows, as they had formerly opted."

Scorpio snorted. Strong though the guards certainly were, they'd never fight openly.

"You do not believe me?" The necromancer tittered. It was a foreign sound, crackling and harsh. "You needn't. You shall see it with your own eyes before it's all over..."

The dark grew stronger. Stars reared in the depths of the sky. With a movement of the arms, Xardas created a ball of light, then motioned it to hover above them.

"I have looked within your friend's mind. I know where the sword lies..."

Xardas frowned and breathed through his nose. He jerked towards Scorpio.

"I cannot get it myself. Nor can I provide you with a way to reach it."

There came a buzz. Seconds later, after a burst of blue light, a dead crow landed upon the platform. Xardas prodded it with his boot.

"But there is a way. It will not be simple or safe, however, it is the only one."

A solitary snake of energy slithered in the distance, fading into the trees below.

"The... visitors we've had earlier, the ones because of whom I have had to spend a great deal of power constructing this," and the necromancer waved his hand in a wide movement, "have not reached our world by means of flight or marching or sailing."

"Then how?" said Scorpio, aghast at more magical explanations.

"Somewhere out in the land, I do not know where, there is a portal through which these creatures have passed."

Gleaming green mist leapt up in Scorpio's mind.

"The ordeal is madly dangerous, but you must do it. And you must do it tonight. If we are to end this disaster, the sword must be ours by morning."

"I'll do it." The weight of his two-hander seemed to double. "And I'll do it alone, if you don't mind."

He was tired of always being in the presence of Lester. An expedition all by himself wouldn't kill him...

Xardas shrugged. "Do as you wish. But make haste."

Crickets began their song. A yellow crescent moon slowly mounted.

"I'm ready."

He uttered no other word, allowing Xardas to teleport him away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Scorpio stared up at the tower. The moon hovered somewhere behind it - only a small fragment of white sphere peeked from beyond the tower's many horns.

He'd only lived there for a day, but he already missed the place. The company of other human beings and the presence of a bed in which to sleep had made the place paradise.

The prospects were grim, to say the least. He would either die, trying to retrieve the sword, or he'd get the sword, do what that damned old man wanted him to, break free…only to be considered a criminal, and be hanged for it.

It was as though someone controlled him. He took his steps sure-footedly toward the fortress, but without being conscious of it. His mind roared and worked in silence; his hands clenched the two-hander's hilt, and his legs dragged him to the place where, perhaps, certain death lay.

Burning. The acrid scent of smoke wafted in the afternoon air, and a distant crackling...

A spiral of smoke lashed against the sky, its base the crumbling citadel. The smoke waved and fluttered oddly, like something was passing through it, touching it.

Fear gripped Scorpio, but a great part of him was numb. The remaining part granted him alacrity, and a certain impulse to flee and hide under some dark rock, and wait there to die of hunger and thirst. But he made an effort to block that impulse, to let it fade until it was just a nagging prod in the back of his mind.

With a great, terrifying sound, a huge chunk of the wall blasted to bits, scattering debris down the valley, which tumbled down into the grass.

Then something larger fell through that hole.

The jet of fire was stronger than a troll's fist, or so Scorpio judged. Whoever that man was, he fell backward, propelled as though he were but a leaf caught in a gale. His dark form, lit bright by the flames, rolled like a ball to where Scorpio stood, his sword outstretched.

The columns of smoke were dispersed into small gusts as the sound of heavy wingbeat reached Scorpio's ears.

It was red, gigantic. When it shook it winds, it felt as if a storm was bound to begin, the force of it bending the grass and swaying trees.

The dragon wheeled in the air, spurting great waves of fire across the citadel. In a few moments, the whole scene was ablaze. Scorpio squinted, dashed at the base of the hill, and crept under a bush.

The din grew soft with time, until only the sizzle of the flaring building remained.

And then the realisation struck him, strong as dragon fire.

What the hell was he doing?

He shook the branches off, ripping some apart in the process. He coughed.

A second realisation washed over him, seeping deep inside his chest until he felt hollow.

He was doing the only thing he could do.

The thought of cowering back at the tower and begging the necromancer to let him in did not irk him that much, but... there was something in him, something unreasonable and ridiculous, that told him: the only way is forth, there's no way back now.

There were so many things he regretted. He wished he could steal all the necromancer's books and look through them until he found a way to turn back time and prevent this travesty of a present from happening.

But he'd never been an avid reader. He was more of a physical guy.

And, thinking that, he let his sword-arm fall by his side, and he began trekking down the only other road that was available.

The bridge that connected the central part of the colony to the eastern side was barely standing. Scorpio trod on it with great care, so as to avoid falling in the deep river below, which was flowing furiously, spitting its water across the shore.

With no rain to douse the fire, gigantic swells of smoke still rose at the top of the mountain. Only a sliver of flame was visible from where Scorpio stood.

He realised, quite acutely, that the dragon could be anywhere. That the last things he'd hear in life would be the gnash of its massive jaws, and the roar of its fire. Yet still he forged on, bent on stepping through the green mist into whatever world lay beyond it.

And then the sound of drumming reached his ears. It was distant, dimmed considerably by the flow of the river, but it was still there. At regular intervals, another noise joined it, short and sharp.

The eastern forest stretched to Scorpio's left. Half of the trees that comprised it had been reduced to ash, while others still stood, creating a mixed vista that sent chills down the guard's spine.

In one great movement, clouds of birds shot into the velvet night-sky, voicing their loud cacophonies. They swarmed in a wide circle, then whizzed over Scorpio, flying above and beyond him, straight into the inferno.

Scorpio chastised himself for stopping in his tracks. Was he afraid? No, of course he wasn't. But there was a little voice inside him that begged on its knees for him to turn back and flee. He turned a deaf ear to it, then resumed his walking.

Fresh smoke billowed above the Sect Camp's remains. Scorpio wondered whether a dragon had paid it a visit recently. And, he hoped with a vicious surge of satisfaction, if it had, perhaps it had made short work of the ambling dead therein.

It was scarcely noticeable at first, but with every footfall he neared the fortress, and with every thought he gave to the situation at hand, dread crept up on him, ever swelling. He'd never depended on anyone else to save his life, but there was something…something calming about having someone with you when things got dark. And Scorpio doubted things could get any darker.

The gods strove to prove him wrong.

Absorbed in his worries, he didn't hear it. Its wingflaps eluded him. But when it let loose its flame-lance, he realised what was in his wake, and wasn't ready for it.

He toppled forth. The rock which his head had smacked against temporarily made him forget that he was set aflame.

He shrieked, and cried, and writhed in the grass, flailing his arms and his legs like a madman. The back of his hands stung fiercely.

When the heat of the flames seemed to have faltered, he scrambled up and did not check for the dragon. He darted up that valley as he had never done, his feet barely touching the grass. All he was aware of were the presence of a nearby cave and the raging dragon intent on scorching him alive.

Only when he found himself within the shelter of that cave did Scorpio stop running. He buckled down and sobbed. Fury welled in him, and anger, and rage, and all the feelings that jabbed him and told him to stand up and hack every living thing to ribbons. But reason, whatever shred of it remained within the tortured mind of the ex-guard, spoke out against it.

He waited there until he could breathe normally again. His hands were a glaring red, pricking as though millions of bolts had flown into it. Half-heartedly, he raised a hand to the sword harness on his back, then wrapped it around the two-hander's hilt. Its coldness was both heaven and hell to him, but it dawned upon him very soon that he couldn't grip it for too much. He would have to forego fighting.

It'd be so simple to lie down and sleep, and forget everything else. But he had something to do, something that could help end this mess, and it nearly didn't matter anymore whatever other mess it would spawn.

The dragon had gone. Once again, the night was silent.

Scorpio strained to recall all of the things he'd been taught as a shadow. Matters of sneaking, of how to tread upon wood and stone and metal and have no sound come of it. They were hazy, distant, as if obscured by a thick veil he couldn't displace.

Putting all his effort and his mind into the act, he slinked across the bridge. His steps could not be heard over the river. Good...

Every fear he'd harboured in his life churned inside him, melding into a single entity that Scorpio could feel pressed against his chest. He went on and on, up and up...

And there it was. The portal.

The stench wafted toward him, nearly causing him to retch. His heart beat madly, and to spite it, he stepped forward and knew he had been taken to a darker world.

Dark shadows fluttered above the ground, like wind-borne cloaks. Driven by fear, Scorpio unsheathed his sword and slashed at them, but they did not respond; nor did they seem to be in any way harmed. His hands were not thankful for the act, and felt like he'd cut them raw.

The beings made no sound in their flight. The world around him was oddly silent.

Everything looked the same here. Just absolutely quiet and, Scorpio noted thankfully, devoid of dragons.

He set out for the cave underneath the fortress. It brought him immense relief to be able to walk around without being assaulted by Innos knew what monsters. The black spectres glided around boulders, grass and trees, indifferent to Scorpio, and he was grateful things were that way. Their presence was slightly unnerving.

Soon enough, he was at one end of the bridge. It spanned across to the other mountain, and with no wind to rattle it, it did so motionlessly. Scorpio peered down.

The spectres swarmed like meatbugs around the base of the tower, which now seemed triple in size. The lake was gone. All the water had either evaporated, or had never been there in the first place.

A growing sense of unease and dread loomed over Scorpio, and he did not know why. After a while he grew accustomed to the presence of the dark beings, and found their movements to be quite pleasing to behold.

Then the sound of fighting reached him.

Furious grunts rang in the night mid the crackle of fire spells. Scorpio dashed down to the cave, but did not enter.

Orange light spilled onto the ground by the entrance, intermittently darkened by shadowy shapes. He crept closer, and peeked within.

Four orcs were battling the spectres. Three of them had large axes which they swung in the air, but the spectres streaked across and behind them, untouched. The other one was waving its staff, the tip of which held an orb of flame.

Scorpio watched their fruitless motion awhile. Neither creatures seemed to be hurt. Then he noticed something in the glow of the fire.

A large sword lay on the ground. Its edges were jagged; a black gem sat in the middle of its hilt. By firelight, it seemed unnaturally dull, as though it were covered in centuries of filth.

Bending low and sticking to the walls of the cave, he surreptitiously stepped in, prowling like a cat. The orcs gave him no regard.

Scorpio reached out…

"Argh!"

He nearly fell to the ground as the shaman's heavy staff slammed against his back. Gritting his teeth, Scorpio took out his sword and fought the shaman.

It only took a couple of movements to send its staff flying in the air. The shaman made to ready a spell, but it was too late. The cave grew jet dark as the shaman's head dropped to the ground, along with its body.

The warrior orcs grunted their confusion. Spectres brushed against him as he stooped to grab the sword.

At once, a storm flared.

Every inch of Scorpio's flesh felt pummeled, cut. He scrambled up and raced out of the cave.

No light fell upon his eyes, for he was covered head to toe in spirits. His hands burned as he grasped Uriziel and whipped it at his enemies, who did not falter.

They knocked him off balance. He collapsed to his knees and let the sword fall beside him. He shielded his face with his scorched hands.

All notion of time was swept away from his mind. Aeons could have passed, for all Scorpio noticed. He came to accept the violent swirl of spirits around him as he would his limbs.

Then it stopped.

The howling in his ears ceased. He could see the blue-green grass under his face, and hear footsteps. With a hiss, he grabbed Uriziel and stood up.

A block of ice materialised inside Scorpio's chest. It couldn't be…

But that wizened face, black hair and red robes said the contrary.

Thalseyr the mage. The one he'd killed.

He laughed with a thin voice. "Surprised to see me?"

Scorpio simply stood, his mouth ajar. He stammered out a few sounds.

Thalseyr grinned. "Yes, it seems so. It's been a while, hasn't it? We've not seen each other since…Well, since you murdered me."

The dead mage waited for a while, perhaps expecting Scorpio to speak out. But when it became obvious that he wouldn't, he said, "Your brother is all right."

Scorpio gripped Uriziel even harder. He almost whimpered in pain.

"What do you know of him? Where is he?"

Thalseyr narrowed his eyes and smiled with his mouth closed.

"You haven't seen him? Can't blame you. They're all the same here, in this Realm."

The mage summoned a ball of fire in his right hand, then lifted it upwards. The spectres zipped towards it. Like moths, they circled it, drawing close then backing away abruptly.

"Ah, there he is- oh, sorry. I really can't tell."

He shook his arm, and the fire faded.

"If it helps," the mage said softly, "know he didn't cry when I had my thugs murder him. He took it brave-"

Thalseyr gasped, but then resumed his despicable smile. The sword that protruded from his chest was no matter of interest.

"Oh yes, you certainly would like to murder me all over again. But that pleasure of yours is unreachable." His eyes widened, his smile faltered. "I am already dead."

Having said that, Thalseyr closed his eyes and transformed into another black spirit, then floated up and away.

There was no moon.

The shock of the encounter hung over Scorpio for the remainder of the journey back to the portal. All the effort he had put into forgetting the past now surged forth in his mind, bringing matters alive that should have remained long dead. At least it gave him joy that the bastard Thalseyr spent eternity in this empty world, only regretting that he wasn't burning in some bottomless pit of fire, as he deserved.

On the other hand, he had the sword, which gave him a feeling that was sort of like happiness. He couldn't hang it on his back, so he had to carry it in his arms. But the pain grew bearable after a while, or at least it didn't bother him as much. What would the necromancer do with it? Scorpio hefted the sword and rolled it in his hands. He seriously doubted whether Xardas could actually lift the damn thing.

It wasn't his place to ask, though. He knew little of magic and wished to know no more. So long as it ended the whole madness that was going on, Scorpio was content with marching over to the necromancer, giving him the sword, and sitting back to watch whatever happened.

The spirits were docile to him on his way back. They floated aimlessly as ever, forgotten and indifferent. Was that how he'd end up when he died? Did all humans enter this afterworld? It seemed such a bleak fate, but perhaps things were seen differently through the spectres' eyes.

At last, some time later, he arrived at the portal. Tendrils of mist lashed out and twirled. He moved inside it.

Automatically, before his eyes could catch more than a mere glimpse, he raced into the fortress and hid down.

Perhaps the lizards hadn't seen him. But soon footsteps were heard, accompanied by hissing. A lizard poked its head through the entrance. It scanned the hall half-heartedly, then whirled.

Scorpio wondered why he hadn't cut its head off. Truth was, however, he was tired of fighting. It was foolish to hope, but if these monsters all died and the barrier broke down... maybe he could become a merchant in town or something equally boring. A good dose of boredom is just what Scorpio needed.

He sneaked outside the temple and surveyed.

The lizards were marching off into the distance to the left…

"That's not good," he whispered.

Most likely they were headed for Xardas's tower. But with the barrier in place, he doubted they could do anything.

Still, he had to return. Once again employing the skills he'd been taught as a Shadow in the old camp, he set out to trail the lizards, and see whether indeed they were on the road to the tower.

Scorpio kept a goodly distance between him and the monsters. Occasionally, one of the lizards would stop in its tracks and sniff around for him. He stood poised behind boulders or bushes or trees, sword in hand, ready to fight.

As he emerged from a copse of short oaks, he saw something that froze the blood in his veins.

Four gargantuan dragons swarmed around Xardas's tower. They blew their fire against the blue walls of the barrier, which flickered and sizzled. For a while, that did nothing. But several moments later, when the green dragon took its turn to spit upon the half-sphere, the whole thing shuddered.

The magic energy tumbled down like a falling curtain. The lizards below hissed loudly and raised their weapons.

And atop the tower yellow light flashed.

Roaring in unison, the dragons bore down upon the tower. They rammed their massive bodies against it, bathed it in flame, beat it and slammed their tails. Their ferocity made its turrets and walls tremble.

The top part of the tower broke off and fell into the lake, causing a large splash. However, the sound of it was muffled, as Xardas teleported behind Scorpio.

"We must go."

And a yellow ring of magic rose from the ground and took them somewhere else.

The same yellow ring hovered in the air a while more, then faded. They were in the Inner Ring of the old camp.

Scorpio thought at first that he was back in Beliar's Realm. No campfires crackled in the distance, no sound of laughter or grunts or anything. The place was empty.

"Yes, you've done it- give it here!"

The necromancer tugged the sword out of his grip. He raised it with no discomfort whatsoever, and ran his eyes along the blade's width. Greed shone on his face.

"Good…just as I had expected, drained of all powers…the orcs knew what they were doing."

The fact that his tower had just been destroyed didn't bother him at all. He was a strange man.

"Come after me," Xardas said, not taking his eyes away from the sword. "Into the temple, come."

Scorpio realised he'd never been inside. The guards were only rarely permitted to enter the temple. But then again... he was no longer a guard. And there were no more fire mages.

As he entered the gloom, he realised something.

"Where's Lester?"

A sound of metal hitting wood.

Fierce light burst, orange and bright, filling the temple. Xardas began tracing symbols in the air, performing intricate arm movements and uttering words in a language that Scorpio did not understand.

He repeated the question.

The necromancer gave no more of a sign that he'd heard him than the first time Scorpio asked. He went about the ritual unperturbed.

At first, it was barely audible, a faint hum at the edge of hearing; but then it grew louder and louder, until it sounded as though a swarm of bloodflies had floated in. Delicate blue tendrils hovered in midair, sparkling. They formed pentagrams and other symbols of which Scorpio knew little, or nothing.

Time passed thus. Scorpio leant against the entrance and watched as the necromancer performed the strange rituals.

His voice grew ever more cracked. He panted whilst speaking the words, and as he bustled around to create more symbols, his movement turned sluggish, slow.

A while later, Xardas paused. He swiveled his head around, inspecting the spells. With a groan, he stooped and clasped the sword.

"You might want to step back..."

He thrust the sword forth with surprising speed into the middle of the spells he had cast.

The ground below shook. The sky roared cloudlessly, and the necromancer began trembling, as if in seizure. Swift strings of white energy leapt and sank back into his robes and flesh.

In a flash of white light, the pentagrams exploded. Scorpio knew he'd been rendered blind, and he fell to the floor.

Yet when he opened his eyes later, he saw the cracked floorboards beneath his feet, and faint billows of smoke.

Xardas was leaning against the wooden railings. The sword in his hand pulsed with visible energy; the gem in the middle of its hilt gleamed electric blue.

Scorpio inched closer, uncertain of what he was supposed to do. The necromancer sighed, and the sword slipped to the edge of his hand.

"The Sleeper…I cannot..."

Every word he uttered seemed an impossible exertion. Sweat slid down the necromancer's pale face.

"You must do it for me…no other way…You must...The new camp..."

Xardas proffered the sword with a shaky hand, but it clattered to the ground before Scorpio could take it. He rushed to grab it from the ground. The second he was bending over the sword, something heavy fell against him. He struggled to his feet, then pushed the old man off.

His mouth was half-open, with something of a breath issuing from it, but he was clearly unconscious.

Scorpio looked around until he found the mages' sleeping chambers. He laid the necromancer in one of the low beds.

After returning into the hall, he bowed and took the sword. He could feel magic surging through it, out of it, and into him.

"The new camp?"

Perhaps it was his madness that had made the necromancer say it, but... on the other hand, what reason did he have to not trust him?

His mind could not grasp the oddity of seeing the camp so desolate, absolutely empty. There was nothing left inside the barracks, not even a short sword. He ate whatever food remained in the ore barons' house, and used some of their healing potions to mend his scorched flesh. It pained him to leave his old two-hander there, as though he were giving up a part of himself.

Then he set out on yet another odd journey. And it would become even odder, if a war was truly going on.

Dark clouds slipped across the moon as he marched through the old camp's gates.

Where was Lester?

This thought flitted in and out of Scorpio's mind as he ambled. He wouldn't call it a friendship, but he had appreciated his presence, and it would have hurt him, just slightly, if the novice had died in the destruction of Xardas's tower.

The hut ahead of Cavalorn's place was empty. Wolf skins sprawled across the grass, and atop them lay several arrows and a broken longbow. The scene stank of blood, though there was none to be seen.

Even as he progressed, the pungent stench persisted, growing more and more unbearable.

Scorpio slowed his pace as the entrance to the new camp neared. He peered out from behind various hiding places, but saw no-one. The entrance was unprotected.

Something just wasn't right…

He pulled out his crossbow and laid a bolt in it. Alert, he prowled in.

Scorpio gave a sound of intense disgust; his guts clenched.

The lake shore was coated in blood and gore. Nondescript hunks of flesh and gnawed bones littered the sand, scarcely in sight because of the bloodflies zooming above them.

Scorpio's immediate reaction was to head for the hills, but he stilled that impulse. However, he gave the disfigured corpses as wide a berth as he could, splashing across the rice plantation.

No light greeted him from the tall storeroom, nor any voice.

Once again, madness struck him. This time, he obeyed. His limbs and his foggy head begged him to do so. Thus, he sought out a place to sleep, and curled up behind several large crates, comfortably smooth wolf furs beneath him.

He sleeped soundly, unperturbed by the brewing war above.

The pack of men in the valley above the camp bustled about, and tried to be quiet about it. They had so far managed to evade detection by the zombies, by means of tall oaks and the deep cave within which the zombies never wandered.

All of them had to watch as the possessed mercenaries and rogues dragged people up into the portal. Their screams still seemed to hang in the air, dwindling to a distant murmur, but never fading completely.

The first thing that crossed their collective mind was to dash away and forget all plans of attack. But on this rare occasion, Gomez himself marched in their midst, and put it quite clearly that they could either fight or have their heads chopped off by Innos's Rage. Odd though it seemed, there was something infinitely more frightening about Gomez's scowl than death at any zombie's cold hands.

Gradually, the sky weakened to a lighter and lighter blue. They had chosen to initiate the attack during the day because the zombies seemed weaker within that period, more disoriented. Perhaps there was something behind their eerie green eyes that granted them better nightly vision.

"So!"

Thorus spoke loudly, but carefully, so as not to draw the zombies.

"We'll be sticking to the plan."

He eyed the group of shadows that sat directly before him.

"You archers will go down the valley and draw the zombies."

Some of them gulped, others averted their gaze. Most of them cringed.

"No complaining." He shot them a glare. "Once the zombies arrive here..."

And he waved around at the small forest around them.

"... the archers will move inside the cave and the spell-casters will move out."

It was the turn of several shadows in the back of the group to fidget.

"You will use whatever scrolls you've salvaged from the temple. Burn them all to bits. Obliterate them."

Thorus turned around and peered down the valley.

"And if Beliar makes it that there are any surviving zombies, us guards will storm out and deal with what's left. If the fire gets too big, run back into the cave and we'll take the other route to finish them off."

He turned back to them.

"That's it. Now do whatever preparations you want. We start the battle in an hour."

And he stalked behind a tree, sat down, and lit a swampweed reefer.

Few words were exchanged in the following minutes. Everyone was turning pale, feeling that they couldn't draw breath, or otherwise knowing that they'd meet their demise shortly.

Gomez and his barons were observing things from the cave. They wouldn't take part in the fight, naturally. "Who would then take care of affairs?" they reasoned. "The old camp needs its leaders."

Minutes slipped by like seconds. As if to scorn them, the sun darted up in the sky. One by one, the fighters got up from the ground, nocked arrows, clenched scrolls. The guards and spell-casters joined the barons in the cave.

Diego led the archers. He beckoned them to follow. They crept together: a mass of red lurking under the trees, ever keeping to the shadows.

Figures of stone huts soon emerged.

The mercenaries were gathered in the middle of the cave, split into two groups. A blue-clad man stood between them.

Diego raised a hand. A symphony of drawing strings rang out.

They scurried to the entrance. Diego dipped his hand.

Myriad arrows whistled through the air; long, blurry lines that zipped toward the throng.

The mercenaries shrieked and crumpled. But there were some unhit, and those immediately located the archers, groaning in husky voices.

Charging to their foes, the mercenaries drew their weapons: swords, axes and maces. Their gait was clumsy, but held speed.

"Let's go back!"

In one movement, the archers turned and scuttled away. They were being pursued, but their hunters were far too languid, compared to the swift gait of the shadows.

Waiting atop the valley with arrows prepared, the shadows did not notice him, but they did feel his wrath.

The spell coursed through the air with the voice of wind, and when it hit, encased its target in ice-shards.

Five of the shadows had not been reached by the spell, including Diego. They turned on the mage and decorated his body with a volley of arrows. He reeled back a few steps, then toppled. His featureless, gray eyes seemed to glare at them even in death.

The spell broke with a bang, and the shadows that had been hit slid to the ground, dead.

The mercenaries were advancing. Diego shouted at his men to flee, and together, they tore toward the cave. In a matter of seconds they were there, greeted unkindly by the shadows whose role came next.

"Your turn," whispered Diego, before taking a seat.

Dexter rose, not at all excited. He left the cave first, and four more shadows filed after.

The zombies' eyes shone otherworldly in the gloom of the trees. Dexter and his men barely had a chance to begin the spells, when the air was filled with arrows.

One after another, crying in agony and surprise, the shadows dropped. But the zombies still drew arrows, and still loosed them upon the dying men, until not a single inch of their bodies wasn't covered in projectiles.

Raven saw this, and waited no more.

He ran outside and yanked a scroll from the hand of one of the dead shadows, then leapt behind a tree.

He read out the words in contempt, then raised his arms.

The sky groaned; the earth shuddered.

Scorpio woke. What the hell was that?

He scrambled up and rushed outside. The sound grew louder. Driven by grim curiosity, he went up the slope to the left and stopped when he reached the gate.

Several metres away yawned a large cave. Almost instantly, his eyes darted to the sky above it. It was black at the top, but beneath, brilliant orange. Thin, bright streaks of the same colour rained down behind the cave.

If that wasn't a sign of war, Scorpio didn't know what was. The next step was elusive, but he was quite sure that it wasn't going into the middle of the fire and being burnt alive, however.

"Look at them..."

Scorpio started so badly he nearly toppled backwards. Swiftly, he turned around and ran a few steps down the slope, then crouched.

Laughter, like metal grating against metal.

"They wish to fight us. The folly of men…do they not realise that their age is nearing an end? Our master lies wide awake."

Someone else replied, with the same keen, unearthly voice.

"Let them fight. I am sure our brothers will enjoy the sport. And our master will reap the rewards of it."

The laughing resumed, and Scorpio shuddered in disgust.

But the mirth was cut short. "Look!" said one of the creatures.

"Taar Ruushak? Is it-"

There came a whoosh and a flash of white light.

"Why are you not fighting?"

This one's voice was much deeper, and much…slimier. Scorpio fought back the urge to hurl.

"My brother, Var-Terrach, has died at the hands of humans! And you stand here, watching idly…I ought to send you back into the Realm!"

The other two grovelled and begged, "No, master, there will be no need- we shall fight, we shall go at once."

"No!" the third one bellowed.

Fear jolted through Scorpio. He placed a hand over his mouth to stifle the whimper.

"What good? The humans will all be wiped out soon. The evil is done, and cannot be righted. Go guard the portal. Pray that this does not reach the ears of Krushak!"

"Yes, demon lord," spoke the two in unison. Scorpio heard their scurrying footfalls, and the sound of teleportation.

A portal? That could be it… How else was he supposed to reach the Sleeper? All he had to do was find it now…

He threw many a glance about him to make sure that no-one else was around.

The dark clouds above the cave had scattered. Once again, the sky was clear, and the sun sent its light upon the world unobstructed.

A rectangular, brown patch hung on the hill atop the cave. Clad in blue, a man was standing next to it. He passed through a second later.

The way forth was clear. He was get up on the hill and enter the portal. It seemed easy enough.

But as he found himself right beneath it, facing the gaping cave before him, he was cornered.

To the right, left, before and behind, he was surrounded by mercenaries. Their eyes gleamed green; the blades of their swords white.

He had no time to prepare a bolt. Scorpio drew Uriziel from its sheath and slashed his way out.

He spun and feinted and dodged as he had never done. One mercenary had been more than enough, so many days ago, but a full throng of them…He abandoned the combat and broke into a dash.

All seemed well for a moment. He didn't hear them in pursuit.

Horrific pain overwhelmed him. He shrieked and yelped, and noticed the arrow tip protruding from his right forearm…

He hurled himself to the ground, and found himself tumbling down the steep valley, gathering dust and pain in his motion.

Aeons afterwards, his eyes and mind veiled by agony, he came to a halt. Propping himself on his left arm, trembling and sobbing, he sat up. Tears and spit ran down his chin; his chest heaved, rattled by the shivering heart within.

His hand wrested itself out of control, unwilling to do that which had to be done…And the steps of monsters grew close.

The icy arrow-tip slashed and cut his flesh, tearing veins that spurted blood in near-torrents. It seemed unwilling to leave its position, and each tug of it beat Scorpio closer to the edge of sanity.

He flung it down, scrambled up, and wiped the fluids off his face in one shaky movement.

Run.

Run, pleaded his mind, and this time he obeyed.

His feet trampled mud and earth and dust; his eyes spared no backward glance. The gate was within sight, and he wanted to pass through it, leave this mad place and simply run.

Where?

Scorpio halted and pitched forward.

The realisation was torturous, yet still paling next to the agony that wrapped around his pierced arm, the blood of which slid down his hand and onto the dust.

He had nowhere to go. The tower was gone. The monsters roamed freely and would find him one day.

Dread pummeled him, intensifying the pain.

He slowed his breath. His right arm pulsed and oozed. He would certainly get many more such wounds if he returned…one would kill him. That was what his mind kept telling him, spewing warnings incessantly.

Scorpio ignored it. If he died, let him die in battle, not pierced by arrows whilst sleeping in some filthy cave.

He turned and drew Uriziel. Holding it in one hand gave it greater weight, and made him more aware of the wound. The slightest gust of wind made his flesh roar in torment.

The zombies had abandoned pursuit. Scorpio's walk up the valley was free of danger, yet his eyes flickered and scanned each nook and cranny.

Thin strands of smoke were spiralling towards the sky to the right of the cave. He hoped the fire was small enough to pass through.

Horrid shrieks stabbed Scorpio's ears. Metallic laughter, the clang of blades, and more shrieks. Beyond the rubble of burnt trees, shadows and guards did battle against the mercenaries.

He wanted to fight. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to lop off the heads of those despicable creatures. Yet he had a task, more urgent than any other need.

Scorpio trod up the hill to the portal, which was guarded by two mercenaries. He let Uriziel fall to the grass, ducked into shadow, and shot twice. One of the mercenaries fell over the edge and landed with a crack.

Uriziel gleamed in the sunlight. Scorpio gripped it swung his feet through the portal.

His eyes ached in the sudden gloom. Dim, reddish light hit the walls. A great insect loomed before him; its many legs were poised, its head dipped. Scorpio recoiled, but then noticed it was but a statue, coated in many centuries' grime. He looked around.

He was standing on a raised platform. Two tall archways flanked the insect.

Distant grumbling. Metallic voices rang out. Scorpio took the right-hand path and strode.

The way led down in a spiral. Sweat formed on Scorpio's face; his armour was red-hot.

Large cracks in the ground revealed pools of lava beneath, which were gurgling and popping, wafting their heat upwards. He carefully made his way across them.

Ore-torches cast blue light upon the narrow corridor.

Someone was chanting. The sound was darkly melodious, the voice harsh.

Scorpio scurried to one of the openings in the wall.

The cavernous chamber was littered with bodies. Disembodied arms and legs and heads were strewn all over. Blood painted the five pillar-like structures at the base of the stairway.

The insect was there. In flesh and blood, moving and letting out deep, roar-like sounds.

It didn't look anything like a god, Scorpio thought, gulping. It looked deadly.

Amidst all the corpses, a man was standing. He was thin and dark-skinned, wearing the robe he'd seen Lester wearing. With bowed head, he sang, extending his arms to the sides.

That seemed to keep the monster at bay…if only he could sneak by and-

The Sleeper stomped down in a blur of gray limbs, and bit the man's head off.

His body crumpled with a thud, blood flowing out of his neck with a scarcely audible hiss.

The air rustled. Yellow light sparked in the centre of the room, then spread out.

Wide-eyed, Scorpio watched as Xardas raised his arms. The necromancer hurled spell after spell at the Sleeper, who cried and faltered, but did not die.

"Now!" he cried.

Scorpio reacted immediately. He fled down the stairs as Xardas cast more jets of black light.

Uriziel crackled. When he looked down, Scorpio saw that it was shining brightly.

The Sleeper stopped and turned its head toward him. It gave out a wall-shaking howl and stomped his way.

Xardas shot a spell at its underbelly. Its legs gave way and crashed.

All the pain, fear and dread collided within Scorpio, spurring him forth.

He rushed over to the demon's side, and glaring at its monstrous head, raised the sword and brought it down.

The Sleeper's head landed on the floor. Its mask had fallen off.

White waves of energy swept the room. The black vortex behind the platform began whirling and churning.

"Step aside..."

An invisible fist rammed into Scorpio, flinging him down. He stared at Xardas, who had positioned himself into a kneel.

He stretched out his arms and uplifted his head.

The Sleeper's body shuddered. Red clouds of energy floated from it.

Xardas uttered a word, and that energy compacted into a single line, which floated into the necromancer's chest.

Ominous rumbling came from the walls around them. One by one, stones broke off from the ceiling and crashed against the earth.

The necromancer vanished in another burst of light.

Scorpio's heart thudded in him, faster than ever. Cursing Xardas aloud, he turned and darted up the stairs, across the chasm and up the spiral way. The Sleeper's statue had shattered.

Scorpio lunged through the portal. He had nearly not made it.

Nearly.

Above him, the barrier was falling.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The few blissful moments of respite ended. As the barrier flickered into non-existence, jagged lightning began to fall upon the land. It had struck dangerously close to Scorpio once, which prompted him to get up and run for shelter. Uriziel had once again turned gray, and the jewel in its middle black and dull. It would still make a splendid weapon, thought Scorpio, and he'd sorely need it, now that the only way was out.

The scorched trees on the valley below still smoked. Scorpio could make out human forms splayed on the ground, with scorched flesh that gave out a horrid reek. And there, midst the black figures, he saw a sharp face, with a tall, bald forehead. The man wore the Ore Barons' armour, and gave no sign of noticing him. Raven whirled and marched back into the cave.

He let out a long sigh as he reached the safety of the cave underneath. Watching the lightning bolts crash against the building on the lake, and into the lake itself, Scorpio thought about his actions.

The barrier was gone. Freedom lay ahead. But still a sense of unease squirmed inside Scorpio, making him twist his lips as though he'd tasted something bitter. Would human beings prove better hunters than the monsters? Most likely, thought Scorpio. He sighed.

The crack of lightning dwindled…and the sky above took upon itself a soft crimson cloak.

During his stay inside the cave, no zombie reached out to him, setting arrows and loosing them in the air. A part of Scorpio hoped they'd all died along with their master, but there was no making sure. His safety would be at risk whilst he slept, and bearing that in mind, he started walking.

For the night, the Old Camp would do. He'd return to his bed in the Inner Ring, and sleep there until morning. Perhaps Lester was there, waiting for him. Scorpio had begun missing him, though he still wasn't sure about calling him friend. Lester was no more than he was: a convict, a prisoner, an outlaw. They'd face the same people, and the same judgment. He didn't know what plan of action lay beyond the morn, but he didn't much care.

He realised it was the first time he'd seen a truly clear sky in years. It was beautiful.

_The end._


End file.
